


Darkest before the Dawn

by Kissa



Category: Actor RPF, Captain America (Movies), Captain America RPF, Chris Evans - Fandom
Genre: Drama, Emotional, F/M, Getting Together, Romance, Vulnerability, feels fic, sad past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-07 17:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissa/pseuds/Kissa
Summary: The story of a boy who kissed all the demons until one really wanted to kiss back.





	1. First Things First

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pretty self-catering fic, but you might find at least some elements you might enjoy, like SoftBro!Chris, love between two people from different worlds/backgrounds, slow burn, OFC on the ace spectrum, witchy undertones, learning to find happiness at the bottom of one's darkest fears.

I ended up doing some pretty out there shit to keep myself safe.   
  
See, home for me is a battlefield. My parents’ families never got along, and the hate just grew after my birth. I’m an only child, because my mom hated that my dad got her pregnant and because she’s super religious she didn’t consider giving me away or aborting me. So now she feels stuck in a role she didn’t want.    
  
My dad drinks and gets violent towards me. He’s afraid of my mom though. So he used to hit me.    
  
It all ended when I stood up to him.    
  
After a year of taking MMA classes with the best in the business, and pushing myself past all my physical limitations through the power of sheer despair, I stopped my dad’s fist before it impacted my face. And I crushed his wrist.   
  
My mom threw me out. See, she hates my dad, but no one else gets to discipline him besides her. 

I was sixteen. 

Where was I supposed to go? What was I supposed to do? I was a ripped, straight A homeless girl. 

My PE teacher dropped some hints that a club where his friend was the owner was looking for staff.    
  
I went there thinking I’d wash dishes or clean up after hours.    
  
But I ended up as a dancer. A stripper, to be exact.  
  
I didn’t care that much. The men were pigs, even the ones in expensive suits who came to the club with an entourage. I had already learned to disassociate thanks to the years of abuse at home. Thank you, daddy dearest. 

I always loved dancing and music provided a welcome escape. When I was on stage, I didn’t care about anyone else around me. It was me, the pole and my superpower of drawing the bills out of men’s wallets.    
  
And I was good. I could tell by how much money I raked in every evening.    
  
None of the dancers had any days off.   
  
Not even when we were on our periods.    
  
I loved dancing when I was on my period best, because the shifting hormones filled me with an anger so intense, it made me feel unstoppable. I’d go dance on clients’ laps and walk away with the whole contents of their wallets while they struggled to contain the mess I’d caused in their pants. 

 

In time, I got a small place to live. And paid myself a couple of courses, learning motion graphics and video production. Where the other girls invested their extra income in getting bigger tits and asses, I bought art supplies and learning materials. I also went to a hip-hop dance class and learned choreography.    
  
To make extra money, I started attending high end parties around town. Dancing in cages, on poles and on rich footballers’ and actors’ laps.    
  
My friends couldn’t understand how come I was raking in all that cash while having zero interest in fucking any of my clients.    
  
It seemed that, the more disgusted I was with the idea of them touching me past what I allowed, the more they wanted me and the money just flowed out of their pockets. It was an honour to have me blow them a kiss or smooth their moustache or goatee.

There were some who tried to get more than they paid for. And then they had to explain a broken nose, a black eye or a dislocated shoulder to their girlfriends and wives at home.    
  


* * *

 

At some point, I decided it was time to leave the club life behind. 

  
I moved to Boston, to a small and idyllic community an hour away from downtown.    
  
I could now afford to work from home, taking video editing gigs and making intros and promo videos for online clients. 

My neighbours were wealthy couples, with stay at home moms organising Tupperware parties and self-help seminars at their high end home. There was only this one Italian lady who wasn’t into any of that shit. We started talking after I helped her empty a truck that had delivered groceries for her. The driver was refusing to help her carry the stuff inside and there was some heavy shit in the back of that truck. Nothing that the cute lady could carry on her own.    
  
She was crying and pleading with him when I walked over.    
  
“I can help,” I said. “Just tell me where the stuff needs to go.”    
  
She looked at me incredulously, but I guess she saw that she had no other choice so she showed me where her pantry was.    
  
I carried all her groceries inside, the whole several pallets’ worth of heavy cans and jars, two cow sides, huge hams, wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano and sacks of potatoes and flour. Plus a bunch of crates of fresh fruit and veg.    
  
“If my sons were here, it would have been no trouble!” She said. “Thank you, darling. You’re so strong!”    
  
She wanted to pay me, but I refused.    
  
“We’re neighbours. I live not far from here, on the street parallel to yours. I was walking to the corner store. No biggie.” I said.    
  
She still didn’t let me go before she shoved a tray of lasagna and a box of assorted cakes in my bag. And she hugged me too.   
  
Being pressed against this strange woman’s ample chest triggered something in me that I had locked deep, deep down.    
  
I was starved for affection. And while I didn’t need sex from any of the oily guys I’d met along the way, I would have begged for a hug. And this lady just gave it to me freely.    
  
I could tell she was a mom who loved being a mom. Something else I’d never had.    
  
I started crying when I rounded the corner of her street and was sure I was out of her sight. 

 


	2. Suburban Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our girl is making and consolidating a new friendship. And Lisa really loves taking in strays, no surprise there.

Lisa became a regular at my place. She would show up with goodies, stuff she made fresh and that she always said she had too much of.    
  
One time, she rang my doorbell but I didn’t hear it, because I was in the back, and she came around the house, to my backyard, just in time to see me doing one arm pull ups on the bar I had installed. 

“Wow, not even my son can do that. And he’s always working out. I should send him over for some tips.” She said, clapping excitedly.   
  
“Ever thought of trying it yourself?” I asked.    
  
The truth is that working moms and grannies have mad upper body and arm strength. You don’t want a granny to smack you with her non-dominant hand, the one they don’t consciously control so well. 

“Me? Haha, I’m a grandmother… Pull ups aren’t for me. I bet I can’t get up once.”    
  
“Ten bucks says you can drop five no problem.”   
  
“You’re on!” Lisa said and stepped up to the bar.    
  
I gave her my gloves and told her what muscles to engage and in what order.    
  
And, lo and behold,  _ nonna _ did nine pull ups like a boss, and gave up out of sheer overwhelm.    
  
I got hugged and smothered in kisses so much after that. 

Discovering this one rad fact about herself breathed new life into Lisa. 

She kept mentioning her sons and at some point she noticed I was not that eager to meet them.    
  
“I’ve had it with dudes, I think. No offense to your sons, I bet they are fine gentlemen.” I said. And then I explained to her what I’d done before video production.    
  
To her credit, Lisa’s feelings and opinion of me never changed.    
  


It was great to have a friend.   
  


* * *

  
Lisa also came to see me crush a strength competition.    
  
I was at my biggest yet, having put on quite a bit of muscle for the competition and not cutting. Which meant I still had a good layer of fat under my skin and didn’t look as strong as I was. But I’m pretty tall so it was all evenly distributed. I still couldn’t find any cute clothes so I dressed mainly from the men’s fitness and casual sections. 

Lisa baked me a cake to celebrate winning the competition. She had started to go to a local fitness club after the pull up moment. And she wasn’t attending the Seniors class. So far she was impressed with herself and she was smoking the workouts the trainer gave them, leaving the forty-year olds in the dust. 

Then she invited me to her birthday party.    
  
She wanted to celebrate not just getting one year older, but also dropping some serious pounds, looking and feeling her best.    
  
And I suppose she wanted to finally introduce me to her family.    
  
I already knew she had many kids and was divorced. I didn’t know what to expect and how her kids would be, but based on Lisa’s youthful good looks, I assumed they were all younger than me.    
  
OK, I was wrong.    
  
On the day of the party, I showed up early and a little girl, around four years old, ran over, announcing that someone was at the door.   
  
Lisa came and opened, hugging me and picking her granddaughter up. 

“Oh hiiii! I see you met our Stella! Come in, everyone’s here. Chris is still sleeping because he flew in from LA, but the rest of us are all up and ready to dig into all this food I made. Come, I’ll introduce you.”   
  
And like that, she took my hand and introduced me to her many kids and grandkids. She counted Dodger as a grandkid too.

Dodger is a big fluffy dog who came downstairs slowly, stretching and yawning, reluctantly sniffing me and deciding I was cool after I gave him a piece of jerky Lisa handed me. He then went right back upstairs.   
  
“Dodger is Chris’ small fur son.”    
  
I couldn’t help but notice that Dodger looks a lot like this cartoon dog that many women at the gym have t-shirts and phone cases with.   
  
Scott handed me a drink and gave me a short tour, leaving me with Shanna, who wanted to tell me about Lisa and how I’d turned their mom into a gym rat who tagged all her selfies with #gainz and who had stepped up her game in the kitchen, going to a healthy cooking class.    
  
“At first we worried she was approached by a cult. One of those weird groups that insist you have to eat everything raw, wake up at 4 am to do naked yoga and drink your own piss,” Scott told me. “Then Ma installed a pull up bar on her bedroom door and humiliated Chris and me. Even Chris can’t do as many pull ups as she can now.”   


“But what does your brother do? He a bodybuilder or a martial artist?” I asked.    
  
Scott gave me a long look, then scoffed, as though I had severely offended him. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, huffed and sighed in resignation.   
  
“He’s Chris Evans.” He said, expecting me to accept that as an explanation. 

“Many people in this suburb are called that,” I said, scratching my head. “Evans is not a profession.” 

“OK I cannot FUCKING BELIEVE you made it past thirty, living in the developed world, in fucking Massachusetts of all places, and don’t know Captain America and Marvel movies.”   
  
Scott is a bit off on his guesstimates, I’m twenty. I do wear heavy makeup and intentionally so. Since my stripper days, when it was essential for me to look older without raising suspicions. But excuse you, motherfucker. Past thirty?!

“The last time I went to the movies, I was still a wee child.” I said, shrugging. “I do know the Marvel comics and Captain America, but he’s a cartoon.” 

Scott legitimately face-palmed and made a defeated sound, walking away with his arms raised in surrender. 

His sister Carly, the mother of the kids, approached me.    


“Don’t pay attention to him too much. He’s over-dramatic sometimes. Ma told me you do animation?”

“Not the cute cartoony kind, but yes.” I explained. “Promo stuff for online shops and brands in general.”    
  
“Oh. That’s even more interesting. You must be new to the neighbourhood. How are you feeling here?” 

“It’s great. I was quickly ostracised by the boujee moms who sell teleshopping objects to one another, so I have peace. My only friend here is Lisa, who is not about any of that stuff.”

“You’re weird. I like you.” 

“Girls, help!” Lisa cried from the kitchen.    
  
Carly and I looked at each other and ran down the stairs to the kitchen, only to find her smacking a grown man’s hand with a wooden spoon.    
  
Said man was naked, except for some very old school boxer briefs that had ridden way up his ass crack.    
  
“Chris. Look. She’s the girl I told you all about.”    
  
Aha.   
  
Chris turned around and stretched his right hand toward me, shaking mine. 

“Hi.”   
  
He then pulled those god-awful shorts out of his ass and crossed his arms, looking so uncomfortable doing it, that I didn’t get if he was just making his pecs and biceps bulge out or trying to hide his nipples in an attempt to be less naked in front of a stranger.    


“Put some clothes on, wash your hands and come to get some food. You can have cake after.” Lisa said to her son, who walked away muttering under his breath.    
  
Dodger followed him.   


Lisa let me help with setting the table, seating me on her left. Chris was on her right and the rest of her family and friends filled the remaining seats around the table.    
  
Her homemade food was so, so delicious. I thanked her again and again, not believing my luck. My mom never cooked stuff this good. According to her, if food tasted too good, we’d get addicted to it and get fat. And fat, according to her scale, was the worst thing a person could be. 

“So where did you grow up? You from Mass?” Chris asked, having made himself more presentable for the dinner.  He had combed his hair and put on some jeans and a Police t-shirt. 

“No, I’m from LA. I moved across the country to get a new start.” I answered. 

“Did you try acting in LA?” Scott asked. “I know a bit about how hard it is to make it there.”    
  
“No, not acting. I don’t want to cast a shadow over Lisa’s happy occasion with my sad sack story.”

  
“Yeah stop interrogating her.” Lisa cut in. “We’re neighbours, you have all the time to make friends and grill her after. Carly, pass the grated Parmigiano, please.”    



	3. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris is a shy guy.

I think I like Chris better, of the two Evans boys. Scott keeps taking shots at me disguised as jokes, and while I know that’s common between siblings and close friends, I always get put on the defensive when that happens to me. I’m afraid of this relaxed atmosphere between the Evans kids, because I can’t tell where the line between taking the piss and actually hurting one another is. Being an only child, I couldn’t develop a feel for that and no thanks to my parents, who could turn accusing at any moment, for even the smallest things, I never learned to relax around others.    
  
I envy Lisa’s family so much, because it is so obvious that, even though they are each very real people, each with their personal challenges and struggles, the climate in their home is one of love and support.    
  
I’ve already given up on the idea that someday, someone might want to give me that. I’m no longer a child; despite being robbed of a good start in life, I am still expected to be a functional and contributing member of society. The amount of energy that goes into my holding myself together and abstaining from falling apart in public is huge and this is why I am always exhausted and grumpy in my free time. 

The only time when I don’t feel any of these things weighing me down is when I dance, when I learn new choreographies or when I am at my graphics tablet, working. Basically, when I am allowed to lose myself.    


Which is why I try to fit as many opportunities to dance and to draw into my schedule as I can.    
  
I did google Chris, of course, because Scott’s reaction to my not knowing what his bro was known for intrigued me.   
  
Chris is an actor, a quite beloved one at that. And I *have* been living under a rock, because he is known and loved worldwide, and he plays Captain America. Well. Played, until recently. His contract ended.    
  
The Chris on screen has so very little in common with the Chris I see at Lisa’s house. And not just in terms of looks.    
  
The Chris I saw in interviews and at panels with fans is extroverted and effervescent. At home, Chris is quiet, often reading under a tree in Lisa’s garden or playing around the house with his friends and dog. And they play stuff like hide and seek or tag. 

To me, he’s always respectful and polite, albeit a bit too reserved in a way that makes me wonder what about me inspires so much distance because we genuinely only exchanged small talk in the beginning. 

One day, Lisa sent him over with a Pyrex dish of freshly baked cannelloni. 

I wasn’t paying attention, immersed in animating an intro for a client, and I asked “Who dis?” when the intercom rang.    
  
“Uh, Chris? Ma sent me.”    
  
I laughed noiselessly, since his answer was not far from the supremely vague “it me”. I have over 70 Chrises in my rolodex, of which 40 live in Mass.   
  
“Come in please.” I said and pressed the button, letting him in.    
  
I had completely forgotten I was in a seamless yoga bra and shorts because it was hot as hell outside and I went downstairs like that.    
  
“Oh, did I come at a bad time?” Chris asked, as soon as he saw me.    
  
I looked down at myself.    
  
“What? No… I just forgot myself working and didn’t bother to dress. Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” 

“It’s okay. You’re at home.” He said, and his moustache stretched over a smile. It was around that time that I noticed his presence didn’t put my body on high alert like many other men do. 

Maybe the fact that we were of approximately the same size and I could most likely take him down in a fight contributed to my not feeling threatened by him. 

“Carly told me you do animation… would you mind showing me something you’re working on? It used to be my original plan, before the acting thing took off, and it still captivates me.” He asked.    
  
“Sure. Let me put this in the oven first. Make yourself at home.” I said and disappeared into the kitchen. When I came back, Chris had taken off his shoes and cap and he was standing awkwardly in the hallway.    
  
“Would you like something to drink? I have water, tea, and fresh fruit juice.” I offered.    
  
“Water’s fine, thanks.”    
  
Once I got him the water, we went upstairs to my workspace.

I pulled a second chair to my desk and invited him to sit.    
  
“So, this is going to be an animated logo intro for a youtuber. They wanted this cartoon of them to move, giggle, shrug and talk.”    
  
“Sounds complicated.”   
  
“It takes a bit of time, but it’s actually not that complicated. I imported the image file into this animation workspace and turned it into a 3D layer so I can make it do things. And then I’m adding effects and adjusting those until I get what I want. And at the end, the sound comes in over the whole thing.”    
  
“That is so cool. Man sometimes I wish I had gone to college.” Chris said. 

“I did not go to college. I got my degrees through remote learning programs because I still had to work to support myself. It worked out fine.”   
  
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a motion graphics wiz. Ma told me what you do. I thought you’re a fitness model or yoga teacher. I mean… uh… sorry if I’m being a jerk. But a body like that doesn’t just happen.”    
  


“I also studied choreography and dance. Sometimes as back-up, for some folks’ videos… that brings in some cash too, and it’s massive fun.” 

“I can imagine. I love dancing too, but I’m awkward and self-conscious… it takes a lot to get me to dance in front of an audience. Even on set. At least two bottles of Stella.”   
  
“Yeah I was like that too, but at some point I had to dance for a living.  I guess it’s the same as undressing for a love scene. At first you have inhibitions to the ceiling but when you’ve done it a few times, the mind just accepts it.”                                                
  
“Speak for yourself, I am still super self-conscious when I have to get naked in a work setting.” He said, pouting. “I like being naked, but not for work.”   
  
I shrugged. Why did he feel the need to clarify that? But now I knew what he’d be entered into my contact list and rolodex as. “Chris the Nudist” or “Happy Flappy”. To be decided later.   


“Bottom line is, life is too short to spend your time self-monitoring and watching yourself from the outside, worrying you’re not pleasant to look at. And hey, if you wanna get rid of the stiffness, you can drop by my dance class. It’s on Friday evenings, except when I’m working somewhere far.” I said.    
  
He looked at me incredulously for a bit, then nodded, more to himself than for my sake.    
  
“I could give it a go, yes. Who comes to the class?”    
  
“Your mom, sometimes. Shanna, more often. Local folks. White dudes wanting to impress their wives. Moms. Office people. Some actors and footballers’ wives.” 

“Are the dances hard?”    
  
“Mmm, they come in different difficulty levels. I only have one rule, you’re on the carpet, your butt stays in motion. No onlookers on the linoleum.” 

“Seems fair. Look, I feel terror just talking to you about it. I’m coming. I don’t like it when fear tries to talk me out of doing stuff.”   
  
“Good approach. Look, the file is ready to render.” I said, clicking “export media” from the software menu. 

“Fuckin’ magic.”   
  
“This is nothing. I took a mo-cap class taught by Andy Serkis. Did you know he used to be a graphic designer before he went into movies? His course was amazing. One day when I have some money saved, I’ll buy the tech and get into the grey dotted pajamas. I wanna be a dragon SO BAD.” 

“Oh… oh you can do that?! Fuck me…” Chris exclaimed, hitting his thigh several times excitedly. “I thought only a handful of folks can do mo-cap.” 

“The skills exist and it’s cheap to learn them, but the tech is a bit pricey. You could just sniff around for a part that requires mo-cap work too. And you get your wish, without spending your coins.” 

“Now that’s an idea. I wonder why my agent never comes up with shit like this. I think I’ve played every variation of ‘Douchey but charming male lead’ known to man, though.” 

Wow. So he has a sense of self-irony. That’s awesome. Points to you, my guy. 

That’s how I decided Chris was alright. 


	4. Deep Wounds That Healed Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is as easy as it seems and as effortless as the others make it seem when you have a gaping wound under your armour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Like a stray cat who gets to taste the softness of a sofa cushion after a life on the streets, I wanted to dig my claws in and hold on." - This might just be the most painful sentence I've written to date.

I got to go to some local parties with some of the Evans kids. Mostly with the sisters. Scott was in LA most of the time and Chris… well I don’t know what Chris was up to. He was coming and going all the time, which was to be expected for a high-profile actor.    
  
Funnily I still hadn’t made the connection. The dude that I had met was so normal and so introverted, it was hard to look at him and see photoshoots, interviews and red carpets. 

One day, he and Lisa dropped by my dance class and he brought Dodger along. Dodger was very well behaved and waited on the edge of the room until the class was over, only then going to Chris and giving him kisses.    
  
They came to talk to me, all three of them, after the class.    
  
“This was really fucking fun! And totally not what I expected out of a dance class. A hell of a workout too. I might come more often because this is so much better cardio than going on the treadmill.” Chris said. 

“You’re more than welcome.” I reassured him.    
  
Two weeks later, I was shoving myself into a flowy, layered summer dress, feeling like the a zeppelin in a condom.    
  
The spaghetti straps highlighted my quarterback shoulders even more, but I’ve learned to stop thoughts like these in their tracks. I’ve got a body that many would kill for. It’s withstood so much and it’s gotten me this far, it’s healthy and most importantly, it’s mine. So no disses. We are looking great in this dress.    
  
Lisa insisted I join them to a garden event in the next town. It was one of those boring social functions and she explained to me that Chris was expected to bless the gathering with his presence, and while he had promised to go, he hated those things with a passion so she felt he’d feel better if he had someone to talk the hours away with.    
  
I had dug so deeply into my closet for a dress, but the dresses I had were unacceptable in public and at daytime in Massachusetts. 

  
So Chris had asked his stylist to send me something, and she’d told me to send her my measurements.    
  
“Is this a prank? These read like Chris’ measurements. Only with a bigger ass.” She said. “Who am I dressing, really?”    
  
Chris had to call her and explain to her I’m of a more athletic build and that no, he would not be wearing the dress. As if. He doesn’t strike me as the type, not even for a prank. 

The event was indeed the epitome of a snoozefest.    
  
As we were preparing to leave, Chris pulled me aside and suggested we go out later to a local club where he was friends with the owner and we could have a good time undisturbed.    
  
“To make it up to you for sitting through this,” he explained. “I think we both deserve an actual good time after this.”   
  
I shrugged and agreed. I had nothing planned for the evening. And like I said, Chris was a very non-threatening presence, so I didn’t mind.    
  
Later, at the club, I was on the dancefloor having a good time while I spotted Chris sitting back in the corner the club owner had shown us to, talking to his friend. I didn’t mind that Chris wasn’t dancing, I loved shaking my ass to the bouncy club hits regardless, and there were a few men and women who had already danced with me. 

Chris did come, not too late during the evening.    
  
“Sorry. Couldn’t shake the guy off sooner,” he said and fell into step behind me. “Is this allowed?” He added, resting his hands on my hips.    
  
“Yeah, it’s allowed. You can touch me anywhere, but on top of the clothes only.”    
  
“Got it,” he added and kept dancing up against me, getting flush against my back and moving his hands all over my hips.    
  
I could feel his breath on my neck and the tops of my boobs and that’s when I noticed Chris smelled good to me. Not of ten kilos of fragrance, not of deo and breath mints, just clean.    
  
This was massive. Usually I close my nose and will myself not to think of how smelly everyone is, which is most likely something that got amplified while I worked at the club and got associated with the disgust my clients there inspired in me.    
  
Suddenly I was melting into him, leaning back into his cotton-clad chest and letting myself enjoy the closeness.The tendrils of my perception reaching to record the feel of his hard body in motion up close to mine, the heat seeping into me through his palms. 

I was really losing touch with the reality around me as I concentrated on the new sensations coursing through my body, that Chris had ignited.    
  
I knew I liked having him close, this was 100% proven by now, but would I have sex with him? Mmm, still no. I’ve long accepted that stuff is not for me, after seeing how much pain and suffering people around me inflicted on one another because of it. It takes a certain kind of casual ruthlessness to share your body with someone and then break their heart and humiliate them in the very next moment. And I never wanted to be on the receiving end of that. I think I’ve had my share of abuse for this life and I don’t want to invite a new type in. Especially since the kind of abuse people give each other under the label of love is often so romanticised and normalised in movies and songs. 

Also I think my expectations are pretty unfair because they are very unlikely to happen. I’ve been refused so many good things in life and had to always fight for every little thing. I know I’m unreasonable to want someone who enthusiastically wants to be mine and mine alone, in this era of open relationships and hip polyamorous groups. Maybe that makes me emotionally underdeveloped because I now want what everyone is moving away from. But I can’t stop myself from wanting it.    
  
And while I don’t want to burden Chris with my expectations just because he danced close to me once and I didn’t hate it - I still did all these mental maths of how I thought the evening should end.    
  
But then again, maybe I was wrong - maybe I do give off a sexless vibe and Chris didn’t even notice me as a woman. I mean, I know when I was dancing I was putting on a hell of an act and the same guys who were shoving hundred dollar bills in my ass crack at night wouldn’t have given me a second look if they saw me in casual clothing on the street. 

I had to drive Chris home in the end because he had drunk quite a bit. Since I was not twenty-one yet and not in the mood to get into trouble, I drove his car to where he told me he lived. Before leaving, he hugged me and thanked me for doing this for him, something he was obviously not used to, judging by how floored he was acting.    
  
His hug was incredible. I loved how he just wrapped himself around me, our bodies touching from knees to foreheads, his arms tightly wound around me. And his body gives off so much warmth. I felt tears prickle my eyes.    
  
Like a stray cat who gets to taste the softness of a sofa cushion after a life on the streets, I wanted to dig my claws in and hold on.   
  
But it was over too soon and I was left, bereft and confused.    
  
I left. It was not my place to ask for more. Because more was not on offer. 

I took a night bus home to the suburb where I lived and cried myself to sleep for the first time in my life. 


	5. Cool Girls Walk Away from Explosions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our girl is busy and some results pop up. Chris is impressed and wants in on the fun.

Chris is such a soft boy and I like him so much.  
  
But his looks change so dramatically for his roles. Sometimes he looks close to his off camera self, other times he looks harsh and distant, grown up and stern like an emotionally unavailable dad or a high ranking officer in the military. Or like an eccentric serial killer. I guess he’s good at what he does because he also embodies those types effortlessly.  
  
I didn’t go online to read up on him, not further than his IMDB profile or Wikipedia. It didn’t feel fair to him. He knows practically nothing about me.

I did watch the movie he directed, _Before We Go_ . That showed me a side of him I had gotten to know, but had not learnt the extent of. I cried like a child throughout the movie and bawled my eyes out at the ending.  
  
It takes SO MANY BALLS to show that much emotion not only to people in your life, but also to commit it to film and make the entire world a witness to it.

I don’t have that kind of balls. I’m the one who listens to superficial party music and rap songs about cars and big asses because tears spring to my eyes if I hear a love song with lyrics that reach me.

And I don’t even know how, but Chris now calls me his friend and casually includes me in his activities. He drops by my house to decimate the protein coconut-cocoa balls I keep in my fridge for when I crave something sweet. He comes to read or draw under the walnut tree in my garden because it’s quiet and no one disturbs him there. He syncs his music into my playlists and takes what he likes from mine.  
  
And he is so generous with his hugs and kisses, without being pushy. I looked, and he is like this with all the people in his close circle. But I’m not sure he knows how beneficial his closeness is for me. Or how healing.  
  
I guess it’s not far-fetched to say that he created a kind of intimacy between us that I haven’t enjoyed with anyone before. The kind where he can touch me casually and I don’t flinch and get defensive. The kind where he doesn’t scramble to “make himself presentable” if I go to his place because he knows I’m not judging his bed head.

Ever since I read his professional profile I realised he is MUCH older than I guesstimated. I’m really shit at telling people’s ages, and Chris acts, dresses and looks like a twenty-something year old so it never occurred to me that someone with a long-ass filmography can’t be like… twenty-four, max.  
  
Older guys have always, always been creepy towards me. It’s like an unwritten rule. But Chris has been nothing but sweet and kind. So the fact that he’s almost forty didn’t make me change the way I see him. But it definitely explained some of his music tastes. He has Coldplay in his “dance” playlist.

For my twenty-first birthday, I decided to go on a one-week trip to Denmark. Chris was away doing press then, but he remembered it was my birthday and he sent me a text wishing me stuff. So did the entire Evans clan, of which Lisa was the very first, even before Chris.  
  
When I came back, winter was really taking itself seriously and our entire region was drenched in mud and cold rain.  
  
It was time to sit indoors, wrapped snugly in onesies and blankets. A bout of seasonal affective disorder hit me full on and had me not wanting to lift a finger, let alone work out. I barely dragged myself to the dance class and only managed it with ample assistance from caffeine in large amounts.

I did get a phone call about being considered as a solo dancer for a music video and I said yes. I went to LA where the audition was and got the verdict on the spot. They wanted me, but there was a catch.  
  
The art director wanted me to have my head shaved in the beginning of the video. Would I agree to that?  
  
The money was extremely good, and hair does grow back so I said yes.  
  
Filming took three days in total and I was told to watch out for the video dropping at the beginning of the coming month.

I had to stay there a few days longer for a few photoshoots that the artist needed for their promo material and I lived like a hermit, staying indoors, going outside only to shop and to run, then going right back to my hotel. I didn’t feel like visiting old friends or my family. I was in fact terrified of one of them catching wind of my being there.  
  
My parents haven’t given a fuck about me since throwing me out. No phone calls, no questions to see if I have where to sleep and what to eat. So fuck them.  
  
On a sunny day though, I was feeling myself and I went to Malibu, rented some roller skates and spent the day on them, dancing and listening to music.  
  
Next thing I knew, Snoop Dogg was walking over, asking me if I wanted to be in his video that he was shooting with The Weeknd.  
  
I love Abel’s voice, it feels like a physical caress to me, so I said yes immediately.  
  
The next day, I was being styled and given ample jewelry, a big poufy wig and a crown. My outfit consisted of painted-on glitter and gold, and a tiny rhinestone-covered slip. I’ve danced in less than that so I had no problem with it. And the end result looked amazing.

Abel and Snoop were both very polite and welcoming, even though they were wearing full outfits when we were filming. Abel gave me his suit jacket between takes and they both complimented me and apologised endlessly for touching my butt during filming and singing their sexually-charged barz at me.  
  
But eventually the shoot was a wrap and the director was happy. Snoop threw and MC-ed a party for everyone on set and we parted ways on the best of terms.  
  
Now I had two videos about to drop… life was looking good.

I returned to Mass and my town, happy to be home. I gave myself the weekend off from constant working out and only showed up to my dance class.  
  
There, Lisa and Shanna both had a shock at seeing me with a shaved head, but they both got over it real quick and wanted to rub my scalp and feel the prickly hairs.

Lisa told me I looked good and hugged me to her chest for a long time. Both her and Shanna were more excited about the videos dropping.  
  
The Snoop vs The Weeknd one dropped first and Lisa, Shanna and Carly showed up on my doorstep with a crate of Italian wine, wanting to watch it again but this time while hearing my commentary.  
  
This was bliss to me. Lisa has the mom gift, she just makes everyone feel supported and loved unconditionally, and that’s a great solid platform to jump up and stretch your wings from. And her daughters are like sisters I wish I’d had, but only if I hadn’t been born to the people who had me.

Anyway… Fast forward to Wednesday evening, when I got a text form Chris.  
  
“Cam me,” he demanded and I switched Skype on to the video setting. I was in bed, still wearing the t-shirt and shorts of the day. “Fuck me, it’s true. Ma did say you did something massive to your looks… but damn… I love it.”

“Thanks. I love a good shave too. And besides, I did it for a gig. I’m sure you’re used to it.”  
  
“Yeah but you look amazing… I just look like regular old me with a close buzzcut.”

“Thanks…” I said, feeling a bit awkward by now. “How are you? What are you working on?”  
  
“Something that seemed awesome back then but right now… not that much. I’ll be stuck here for a while. Too long. I’m homesick already.”

He was on camera too and in bed. I couldn’t tell if he was naked or not, but he was definitely shirtless and snuggled in the blanket.

“I saw your video… I… I had no idea you were that big a dancer… holy fuck. That video was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He said, fanning himself and panting a bit.  
  
I thought he was overdoing it. Although the song *was* incredibly sultry and gorgeous.

But Chris went on.  
  
“I’ve never seen you all did up and styled… fuck you’re beautiful. It made me see.. Shit I’m such a creep, aren’t I? I fuckin… crap. Do you wanna... Uh, no. Would you get with me, like… just a bit?”

I raised my eyebrow.  
  
So fucking smooth, Chris.  
  
No.  
  
“I think you’re just alone in a big city away from home Chris. I’m not gonna police or bless what you get off to. Or with whom.” I said.  
  
“Jesus, I want you so much. I’ll do anything. Just one night. Just… talk me to sleep.”  
  
I rolled my eyes. This was exactly what it was - he was lonely and horny in a city where he didn’t know that many people and instead of being excited because his friend got a high-profile gig, he was wondering how he and his dick could get something out of it.  
  
“I’m sure you’re tired and had a long day, because this is not you talking, Chris. You’re better than this. Sweet dreams!” I said and ended the convo.  
  
I immediately had second thoughts.  
  
Men don’t take rejection well. Especially not ones used to bag every woman they want. And it would make things awkward back home when Chris is around. He’ll most likely cry about it to Lisa and Lisa would forget she ever knew me because I hurt her son’s ego?  
  
But Lisa was not like that, I told myself. And besides. I had to listen to my wishes first. Chris was in charge of his, he had shot his arrow into my court and he had tried. But I was uncomfortable with what he was asking for so it was a solid no from me. I had to get used to not put everyone else’s needs above mine.

“You’re going to be fine,” I told myself, undressing and settling into bed. “You might be all alone, but you’ll be fine.”


	6. Power Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris loves to play games and push the limits to see what he can get away with. This time, he discovers it pays not to be a little shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tickle attack!

Turns out I didn’t know Chris at all. 

  
He apologised to me profusely in the coming week and I loved the way he chose to do it. Not just with words - he had a walnut sapling delivered to my house with a very touching note. 

So I decided to let it go and move on without putting Chris’ name on the shitlist.

I planted the sapling in the back of my garden, where he would have room to grow next to two other big walnut trees. As I worked to get it comfortably settled in the ground, I felt even more touched by the gesture. It carried in it a sensitivity and kindness I had seldom been on the receiving end of. The very fact that Chris had figured I’d rather watch things grow over time than wither and die swiftly was filling me with warmth. And the fact that he was Lisa’s son only explained part of this. 

He dropped by to see me and we talked. Not about that Skype exchange, because as I said, I had moved on from it. But he told me in person too, how much he regretted having said those things to me.    
  
We hugged it out and we were good again, no funk between us. That was how I discovered that Heaven was resting my head on Chris’ shoulder, on the soft collar of his knitted cardigan, soaking up the incredible heat he gave off, especially since he had his arms around me, one hand rubbing my back and the other on my head, playing with the tiny hairs that were growing anew.

I had to force myself to not enjoy this too much. I feared so much that, if I let myself catch feelings, I’d only get pain out of it.    
  
Whom was I trying to kid? I already had feelings for Chris, which was why his request had hurt and offended me so much. I’ve heard way worse from my clients back when I was stripping and I had not given a damn because I knew those were assholes and I don’t fuck with that kind of people.    
  
But coming from Chris, it had cut deeply.    
  
And I knew that he was not for me. He was simply not available in a way that would make an “us” possible so that we could both be happy.    
  
I’m very aware of the many ways in which I’m broken. I grew up, but I wasn’t raised. I don’t know what love is, because my parents showed me none and I had no other ways to learn. I got by strictly on acting like I have my shit together and working my ass off. But in some situations, that simply doesn’t cut it.    
  
Sometimes life will hit you so hard, cleaving away at the very foundation of your being, yet you’re supposed to be completely fine if you survive. People at large don’t care if you were raised in a basement or went to private schools. They demand that you be as functional and well-adjusted as the person who grew up loved and supported every step of the way.    
  
Sometimes I simply don’t know what the best course of action is, so that I don’t hurt and alienate others. And usually I end up choosing a solution that hurts me. In the end, I just give up on reaching out because it always costs me too much and I have to pick up the tab on whatever dysfunctionality there is. 

And fuck - Chris noticed.    
  
“I know we’ve only known each other for a tiny while, but I feel like there’s such an effortless intimacy between us already and I don’t want to lose that. What’s going on?”

I sighed.    
  
“The usual. I’m really bad about choosing the right things for me. And at reading situations. And it’s scary because everyone else is so naturally good at it.” 

“Most of us are faking it. And taking cues from others.” Chris said and hugged me close again. “You’re the most decent and sensible person I know. You’re doing just as fine.” He reassured me.    


How could I explain to him I didn’t have the ground elements that allowed me to read cues from others without it devolving into a “feel sorry for me”-fest? I had no idea, so I settled for enjoying his hug with all my senses.

“I really like how huggable you are, for all the badassery you pull.” Chris said. “And I love that you just up and shaved your head, no drama. Besides, it looks awesome. Ma and my sisters agree too.”   


“Thanks. I’m glad I can rock it. And of course I didn’t give it much thought, I was paid well, it grows back super fast and I got to be the principal dancer in a huge video of  some artists I love and stan for.”    
  
“You and stan don’t seem to mix in my head. You don’t strike me as the stan type.”   
  
“Well, uh, maybe soft stan? I don’t know. I’m really passionate about some things, just not passionate enough to pick fights over them, I guess.”   
  
“Sometimes, if I’m having a really hard time with anxiety, it helps if someone takes my hand and calmly describes what is going on. It grounds me and it tells my mind the danger it perceives is actually something else. It all becomes manageable. I can do the same for you, if you like and I’m around.”   
  
“That would be great. After all, knowing you suffer alone is a lot worse than suffering itself, but with someone in your corner.”    
  
“Wow, that was awesome. Eckhart Tole?” Chris asked, getting excited.    
  
“No. Teal Swan.” I said, making finger guns at him. “Not every cool quote is by that guy.” 

“That’s a low blow.”    
  
“What? I don’t watch Oprah, so her gurus du jour never get popular in my neck of the woods.” I said, shrugging. “Now, be good.” 

Chris opened his mouth, wanting to say something further but, at my “be good” remark, he just quietly cracked up and smiled, the crinkles around his eyes becoming more visible. 

And instead, he chose to be good.    


“You’re mad cute.” He said, booping me.    
  
“Even with the convict haircut? But OK, OK. I’ll take it. I was surprised too. After I got the shave I was like ‘damn girl you got a pretty skull! Work!’” I said, grinning. “You’re not too bad either. When you behave.”    
  
“Oh really? So you do like me, at least a bit?” Chris poked at the issue.   
  
“What’s that saying? ‘Don’t tickle the sleeping dragon’?” I said, wagging my finger at him, hoping I was coming across as a stern teacher. 

“Oh, I hope I’m tickling you.” He said, sticking his tongue out at me.    
  
“Not if I tickle you first.” I said, my face the icon of calm even as I jumped Chris, launching a tickle attack. I went for the space right under his pecs, and the soft dips between the ribs.    
  
“Oh fuck no… not there! Fuck that tickles!” Chris got in, before he took off across my garden.    
  
“Come back here. I’m not done,” I said and went after him.    
  
He was running away from me, but looking back at me, so he tripped over a root in the grass. I easily caught up with him and straddled him before he had the chance to turn onto his back.    
  
Chris bucked beneath me, and I tightened my thighs on either side of his waist, resting comfortably on his ass and pinning him down with a hand in the middle of his upper back, right under the neck.

“Oh fuck… fuck… why can’t I get up?” He tried. “It’s easy.”    
  
“I’m holding you down, Chris.” I said, amusement seeping into my voice. “I told you my rule. Be good.”

“Alright, alright. I give up. I still don’t know how you’re pinning me down, and I’d love to find out.”    
  
“Physics. I’m using your body’s limits to my advantage.”    
  
“You gotta teach me one day. Now can I sit up?” 

“Sure.” I said and slid into the grass next to him. 

“You play really rough. I underestimated you. Won’t make that mistake again,” Chris said, watching me.    
  
He was still panting and trying to get his breath under control, his chest rising and falling visibly. 

“Don’t you like games?” He continued.    
  
“Not really. Especially ones where I risk getting hurt. I’ve met my quota of hurt for this lifetime.”    
  
“But if you’re afraid you might get hurt, you’ll miss out on feeling the good stuff too.”    
  
“It’s a risk I’ve always taken. It’s worked out pretty well so far. I don’t like being played with for the sake of the games. You should understand that. You said you hate games too.”    
  
“Yeah but.. When they’re done to me.” 

I raised my eyebrow.    
  
“Then you do understand. No one likes to be a pastime; to be made to feel like a pastime only.” 

“Some people do. The women I sleep with collect me like an in-game badge.” Chris said, in a hoarse whisper.    
  
I’d hit a nerve. 

“I’m not those women. Not saying I’m better. I just… don’t have the same freedom.”

“Are you ever gonna tell me what the deal is with you? What ghosts you carry in your backpack?” 

“Maybe one day. If we’re still friends.” 

“Am I gonna hate what I find out or do you think I’m gonna fuck up before that?” He asked. 

“Both those things are up to you. So it looks like it does boil down to whether you’re a good boy or not.” I whispered, getting into his space, speaking in a low and purring tone, making sure my breath was ghosting across his lips, his neck and his collarbones. 

I saw his pupils dilate.    
  
Good. 

“Now come. I’ll make us hot chocolate.” I added, standing and helping him get up too. 

After Chris left my place that evening, my other video, the one I’d shaved my head for, dropped on the artist’s Vevo. It was all over tabloids and hip sites.    
  
Chris sent me a link to the video on WhatsApp, with one word as a comment:  _Shook._


	7. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris scores some points and he and homegirl have a heart to heart.

  
The following days were hectic. After that video dropped, there were many media channels that wanted to do profiles and interviews with me. I answered the email ones and gave a few interviews via skype.   
  
I also went on the local radio station and I was given the opportunity to advertise my dance class.

All in all, it was a good week.   
  
On Friday morning, I met Lisa at the grocery store and she invited me for ice cream.   
  
She congratulated me for the videos and for raising my profile.   
  
“I’m really happy good things are coming your way. You deserve them, you worked out so much.” She said, hugging me.   
  
After some more casual chatting and me answering her questions, she lowered her voice and scooted closer to me on the _gelateria_ bench. 

“I don’t know what you’ve done to Chris but since he last came to see you, he’s been very busy.” She said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Of course he’s busy, he’s a world known actor. That is none of my doing.” I said, not having caught on to what was being discussed.   
  
“No, dear. That’s not it. We were watching your video together when he slinked away and I went to see what the problem was, if something had upset or offended him, but no, it was the complete opposite.”   
  
I was looking around, feeling vaguely accused and embarrassed.

“My son hasn’t masturbated this furiously since he first discovered his fun bits.”  
  
“Well, that’s all on him. I’ve done nothing to prompt that. I just did a video for work.”   
  
“No, you don’t understand. This is the first time in over fifteen years when I see him get so wrecked by mere thoughts of a girl. As a mom, I love and support my children in everything, but it was heartbreaking to see Chris close himself off to feelings. I didn’t mean to gross you out by telling you this. Or to make you feel guilty or like I somehow think I blame my son’s actions on you. But you’re all he talks about. He daydreams like he’s back in school and he’s just had his first crush. I think… I think he’s remembering what it’s like to let himself like someone and maybe  fall for them without the first thought being, how to fuck them and ditch them sooner, before they get close and run to the tabloids with their story.”

“Well he knows I’m not about all that. I couldn’t give fewer fucks about him being a star if I tried. If anything, I think it’s a negative thing… because there’s always a part of him, the public persona, that he doesn’t have full control over… and his obligations conflict with his needs sometimes. But he’s doing his best in the given circumstances. You raised a good man, Lisa. And a soft boy.”

“He told me he thinks you’re dodging happiness because you’re not willing to suffer a bit, which is inevitable.”

“That’s not how I feel. Some heartache is inevitable. Sometimes people realise they changed and can no longer be together, so they go their separate ways. It’s life. But to knowingly enter an asymmetrical relationship, where everything is demanded of you, loyalty, availability, honesty, you name it… and in exchange you get pushed out of bed at six am and are given an NDA to sign? Or are told, ‘well I’m not looking for love right now sorry if you got that wrong impression, Ima continue fucking everyone I see’ by the same man who was begging you on his knees to let him bang you only hours ago? Nah, fam. I don’t believe in those love stories that start with two people hooking up on a whim. My parents met that way. And you know how that story goes.” I said, over one breath. “I’m not scared of love having ups and downs too. I’m unwilling to share myself with someone who won’t appreciate me. Fleshlights are nine ninety nine at the corner sex shop and they don’t go snitch after you dump them.”

“You’re right… I don’t know how you have the strength. When I was young, I was happy for all the male attention I could get… I only later realised that men are like buses, if you miss out on one, another one comes along soon after. And good men are like unicorns. Everyone has heard they exist, but no one has seen one. They just emerge after they get married.”

“Haha how optimistic, Lisa. Chris is a good man. But he’s gotten used to… what was it Anna Faris said? Being Chris Evans and just taking, instead of dating or having to work for it a bit.”

“That, he did. He got so hurt the last time he caught feelings for a girl… so I think he maybe closed himself off to love. And now, he’s met you and… he’s my cute little butterfly child again instead of the bitter man who came back from LA.”

Ice cream with Lisa was very… insightful, overall.

But after we parted, I got my period so I did what I usually do for the occasion. I canceled the dance class later that day and gave myself the week off, taking it easy and staying home, spoiling myself.   
  
I ate well, I took moon baths at night, going to stand naked under the moonlight, I wore my favourite jewelry and dressed in light, colourful and flowy dresses.   
  
When I was working as a stripper, I did not have this luxury. Strippers don’t get days off. Strippers get a make-up sponge shoved up there, to make sure there’s no spills while they dance. And that’s dangerous and painful, especially for how young I was.

So now I’m making up for it. On Thursday, the next week, I was chilling in my garden, listening to the wind chimes in the walnut tree and letting the gentle afternoon sun warm my skin.   
  
My doorbell rang and I went to open. It was Chris.   
  
I let him in and showed him to the garden, inviting him to lie down on my blanket with me.

“Ma asks if you’re upset. You canceled the dance class.”  He said. “Are you alright?”   
  
“Yeah, I am. I just-” I began, then did a quick mental math, my first instinct being to protect his manly sensitivities from the realities of my body. But why would I do that? He’s a grown man who has sex with women. Surely he is aware of things and my reflex to spare him the graphic details was unfounded. “I got my period and when that happens, I cut myself some slack and take it easy for a few days.”   
  
Chris’ eyes grew wider and he looked me up and down slowly.   
  
I was wearing golden sandals with colourful crystal ornaments, a blue and white flowy dress, and a matching set of layered crystal and silver necklaces and rings.

“You look like a fuckin’ queen. Usually women on their periods stay in bed with ice cream and rom coms.”

“That helps too… But I used to be in extreme pain and instead of popping painkillers, I chose to reframe the whole experience and see if changing my perception would alter how it felt. And it did. I learned this from Teal Swan as well.”  
  
The more I spoke, the more relaxed I got and had to give Chris props for not withering away at listening to it.

“Whatever helps with pain, man. I would spazz out if I had to go through all that every goddamned month.”

“There was a time when I didn’t have this luxury… few women have it, actually.”

“What do you mean? Ma hinted at something very disturbing having happened to you… it’s OK if you don’t wanna tell me, but… is it gonna come haunt you?”   
  
“I don't see why. And it’s not something major… not from my angle…” I said, feeling light headed in that moment. I was going to spring some real shit on him and see if his money is where his mouth is too.

He sat next to me and waited, looking concerned.   
  
“I got kicked out from home by my parents. So I had to strip to live. I did it for a few years… I was good, too.”

Chris looked unperturbed.

“That it? I was worried you were on the mafia’s shitlist… or something bad! But stripping? I mean… I’m such a dick. It sucks that you were forced to do it to survive… like… what sort of parents kick their own kid out? Are you gay? Is that why they did it? That makes it even worse.”

“No, I’m not gay. It was just some fucked up family dynamics.” I said, shrugging. “My dad used to beat me up and he was livid when I was able to stand up to him one day.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it was for you.” Chris said and pulled me into his arms, guiding my head to rest on his shoulder.  
  
He held me for what seemed like a long time, but not nearly enough for needy little me. This had gone super well, too.

When he finally let me go, he looked into my eyes and caressed the side of my face, as one does when trying to calm a frightened child.

“I think I get it better now. You’ve been telling me all along, and I made fun of you and assumed you were messing with me. I’m sorry.”


	8. Clearing the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris has a little shock when he goes to our girl's house for some truth time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A female masturbation scene towards the end. It's not a warning - it's a treat. :)

“It’s alright… I don’t want anyone to look at me with pity. I don’t want to be Victim Girl.” I said. “And I know that whatever happened to me in the past doesn’t excuse my current fuck-ups. It’s just this fucking fear… that, in my attempt to be strong and endure, I made myself unlovable and distant.” 

“That… that’s not true. And you gotta take my word for it. You are one of the warmest people I know. And you’re plenty lovable. I’ll show you, if you let me.”

I raised my head to look at him directly.    
  
“What do you mean?”

“I’m not saying I wanna start something, although Ma would definitely celebrate. I just mean… I wanna show you affection; I wanna learn what makes you feel good and open up. Because I’ve seen you smile and laugh and you’re amazing. Those moments shouldn’t be so rare.”   
  
“You know, I sort of gave up on things ever being on the table for me. Nice things in general. I stick to those I can get for myself. Because it seems like people want nothing to do with me unless there’s something in it for them.”   
  
“I can kinda relate to that, from a slightly different angle.” Chris said, sighing and smiling, pulling me close so he could kiss the small hairs on the side of my head. “You are so good and brave though, you have no idea… and strong, but I guess you’re fed up with being that.” 

The more Chris was around me, the more I noticed the calming and soothing effects his presence had on me. Like a frightened cat adopted by a sweater-wearing sweet man, I was being lured out from under the sofa and into his arms.    
  
I caught myself feeling ready to give in to that feeling of supreme comfort around another human. Something I hadn’t had much of until now. 

“Hold up,” Chris said, moving away so he could look at me directly. “How old are you?!”   
  
“Twenty-one...soon gonna be twenty-two.” I said, stretching in his arms and then finding a better spot against his chest. 

“You’re a fuckin’ child.” He said, gasping and spluttering. “What the actual hell?! How old were you when you stripped?”   
  
“Sixteen.”    
  
“What?! Who the fuck hired a child to strip?! Fuck me that’s so sick. And illegal.”    
  
“Calm down, Chris… These rules don’t apply to poor and marginalized people. The children of rich white people are protected and presumed innocent till late in their adult years. I was poor and homeless. I was lucky I got a job. No one would hire me as a secretary or even as a burger flipper. I did what I had to do to survive.” 

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m not judging you… but this is so wrong… I mean… I thought you were my age.”    
  
“I didn’t say that. Neither did Lisa, I think.”    
  
“Yeah but… holy shit. Fifteen years younger… you ARE a child!” 

I put a finger on his lips and whispered “shhhh!” 

“I know you’re wondering if this makes you a perv for even hanging out with me, let alone checking me out. Yeah I noticed.” I said. “But guess what. It doesn’t. I’m bad with guessing other people’s ages too. And I know you enough by now to determine that you’re not a predator. Up here,” I continued, putting two fingers to his temple, “you’re no older than sixteen either.”    
  
“Yeah, I often feel like I’m fooling people. The rest of the time I’m disappointing them.” Chris said, sighing and looking into the distance. 

For one of the hottest men in Hollywood (yeah I’ve been checking out his filmography), he’s got quite the insecurities. Which is fine. It just makes him more human and more approachable in my eyes. But I still hoped his self talk wasn’t just this.    
  
“You do a great job and you really bring the intensity and the presence when it’s crunchtime.” I said. “I watched Puncture recently and I felt so proud to be your friend and know you.That role of yours gave me chills.” 

“I don’t even know if I should feel flattered or stressed knowing you watched my movies.”    
  
“I loved everything I saw! But it’s Work Chris. My friend is a soft boy who loves so many things. I’m interested in him more than any other shiny dude from the screen.” 

“D’awwwww…” Chris cooed and let himself fall with his head in my lap. “So are we good?”    
  
“We always were. I never sensed a disruption in the force between us.” I replied, smiling and booping his nose. “Do you still feel creepy for liking me?”    
  
“To be honest? A bit. But that’s something I need to work on. It’s shitty to even try and pin it on you.” 

“Does that mean you’re going to stop seeing me and start avoiding me?”    
  
“No… I don’t want that… but I also don’t wanna be some Christian Grey motherfucker, pursuing someone younger because I have the power to do so unpunished.”    


I looked pointedly down at him.    


“Do I strike you as someone who would let you do something dickish, let alone walk away from it unpunished?”    
  
He laughed softly, not opening his eyes. Though a small shiver ran through his whole frame, making him quiver visibly. 

“You have a point.” 

I really looked at him, now that I could do so without being watched. He’s beautiful.   
  
And like I keep telling myself in disbelief, not only do I not feel threatened by him, but I want to touch him. And I want to know what it feels like to be touched by him. I’m not sure how far that would go before my panic kicks in but… for now it’s a new, exciting feeling. 

I started smoothing his whiskers down, making sure all the hairs in his mustache looked downward, like the ones in his beard.    
  
He smiled beneath my fingertips.    
  
“Don’t stop yet.” 

Soon, at the shittiest timing possible, it started raining, so the moment was gone and Chris sat up, sighing.    
  
“I was having such a good time down there.” He said. 

We ran to the house and Chris hesitated for a moment, looking really insecure again before wrapping me in his arms and tucking me really close against him. Not in the “no hetero” way, where only our shoulders and chests were touching. One of his hands was on the back of my head and the other on the small of my back and it was like fucking magic. I felt so at peace and safe in that moment.   
  
“What was this for?” I asked, after he let me go.    
  
“Relief. And thanking you for clearing out the weirdness between us. Which I stupidly built.” 

“It’s fine. Peopling is hard.” 

“Man, this. This right here. How can you make everything OK with so few words?”   
  
“No idea, but I’m glad you’re finding it beneficial.” I gave back and threw him a towel for his hair, while I used one to dry my head too.

He remained over for a cup of tea while the rain calmed down a bit, then he borrowed my umbrella (the one with pink unicorns and glitter manes and horns) and went home.

That night, for the first time, I thought of him while touching myself. As usual, I was naked except for some jewels on my bed, splayed out to be as comfortable as I wanted, the room dark and my skin painted blue with the moonlight coming in from outside. It was quite a dreamlike setting, so it helped me wonder what it would be like to have Chris touch me exactly like that, slowly, paying attention to me like there was nothing more important in this world than my pussy and watching me come. 

Most of the other women I spoke to either didn’t admit to it or said that women need to masturbate while lying on their bellies because if you’re on your back it’s a cliche taken out of porn, where they make women lie down on their backs so the male viewers can see.   
  
Bitch, I’m not gonna suffocate and squish my titties in an uncomfortable position like some nun in a common dorm at the convent. So what if my body is visible? Here, let me nail a hugeass mirror to the wall, I wanna see. No one has a problem with seeing macro shots of dusty dicks, but God forbid someone sees their own pussy! It’s your pussy, not Punxsutawney Phil looking for his shadow. 

So what if I like to give myself a bit of a show? I’m fucking great at it. And I look bomb naked. 

I let myself slide into a fantasy of Chris walking in, just a pair of black pants and a belt on. Dream!Chris bit his lips and joined me on the bed, looking like he couldn’t believe his luck; leaning in to kiss me and sliding his hand down my front, slowly. Carefully squeezing one breast, then the other, watching my nipples harden under his attentions, before his fingers slid between my labia and delved in. He made a small, appreciative moan to find me that wet and heated and he used his thumb to spread some of the wetness on my clit and rub it in small circular motions while his index and middle fingers slid inside me and began to move in and out at just the right rhythm, spreading when they reached the thin edges of my entrance.   
I put a leg up on his shoulder, to bring more nerve endings close to where his touches were, and opening myself up better. I came almost right away after that and his name escaped my lips.    
  
I oozed down over the edge of the bed a bit, so that my head was dangling down a bit and my boobs were right over the bed’s edge. I planted my feet on the sheets and rocked back and forth, making my boobs move in a wavelike motion, which added to the soft ripples of pleasure my orgasm was sending through me, amplifying and prolonging them. It seemed as though my orgasm lasted for as long as I managed to move in that rhythm, of my fingers sliding in and out the right amount while I rocked over the edge of the bed.    
  
It’s amazing what you learn while doing yoga.    
  
I took my fingers out and turned onto my side, pulling the blanket over myself and looking at the moon through the window. Wondering what Chris was thinking of before falling asleep. Whether he was scrambling for a wet wipe in the darkness of his childhood room in Lisa’s house.    
  
I had a feeling I would find out soon enough. 


	9. First Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Go, old people kissing, go!"

  
We kept hanging out, Chris and I, meeting in town while shopping or at fun events. He sometimes came to my dance class too.   
  
He also came to the yoga class I usually attend. We were in a park, on a green meadow near a pond, and the instructor was churning the butter out of us. Next time I looked to my right, he was there, in a tank top and loose-fitting workout trousers, with Shanna’s pink and yellow mat.   
  
He interrupted a Vinyasa to raise one arm mid-plank and wave at me.   
  
I felt myself heat up at his nonchalant and unselfconscious display of strength and I had to refocus.   
  
No one else noticed he’d joined us since my mat was at the very back of the group and all the others were in front of us.

I usually go get a bubble tea after yoga as a treat, so I invited Chris along, if he had time.   
  
“Shouldn’t I be the one taking you out?” He asked, looking somewhat embarrassed.

“You get to decide if there’s a next time, based on this demo little outing. We’re just going for bubble tea. And then I suggest we walk around the lake so Dodger can stretch his paws and sniff things.”

“You always think of Dodger. Thank you. Lead the way?” Chris said, smiling.   
  
We put our hoodies on, rolled up our yoga mats and left to the tea shop.

“You know, this is fucking awesome. I never would have thought of going in here on my own.” Chris admitted.

“The perks of having a girl person with you as an alibi for trying the fun drinks.” I commented, winking and elbowing him in the ribs. “You are a big ass man, no one can stop you if you want to try a bubble tea.”

He got the peach ice tea with lime bubbles and I got lemon green tea with mango bubbles.   
  
“Can I try yours too?” Chris asked, looking at my cup with interest. “I’ll ask for an extra straw.”

“No need. I know you don’t have cooties. Here,” I said, and held my cup in front of him.   
  
He tasted it and nodded.   
  
“Mm this bubble tea situation is easily becoming a fave. They are very yummy. Stella always wants one when Carly goes into town… now I know why. Wanna try mine?”   
  
In all honesty? I didn’t, because it was not new to me. I tried all the variations the shop offers, but I thought, why not step into the cheesy moment and try the man’s tea?   
  
_Fuckin let go now and then. This is Chris. We like Chris_ , I told myself.

“Yeah, sure.”   
  
I tasted his tea and smiled when I gave it back to him.   
  
“Sweet,” I added, just when our fingers were brushing against one another, as the cup passed from me to him. I also smiled wider when I looked up at him and realised… he was considering kissing me.   
  
I could of course be wrong and it could be wishful thinking, but a quick review of our exchanges throughout the day so far all pointed to my being in favour of that scenario. I was SO not the first woman Chris was kissing, so if anyone was interpreting things wrong, it was surely me.   
  
And if he didn’t kiss me, I wouldn’t kiss him either. Social faux pas averted by default.

If he didn’t kiss me, still no biggie. The day had been fun and had become even more so once he’d joined me.

We walked until Dodger got tired of running and he came to hang out, letting Chris put the leash on him again. We had long finished our tea and next, we headed to Lisa’s, where Chris intended to raid her fridge. He offered to share his loot with me, but I had cooked and I was actually looking forward to what I had at home so I politely declined.  
  
There was an awkward moment in front of her house, where I expected him to say bye and go inside. Instead, he just stood there and huffed.   
  
“This is not… how the story goes. I’m walking you to your place.”   
  
“It’s one street away, dude. It’s fine.”   
  
“But I want to. Please?”

“Alright, alright.” I said, grinning. What a goofball.

We walked the short distance to my house and Chris waited until I threw my yoga things inside, then came back outside to say goodbye to him.   
  
That’s when he hugged me close and brushed his lips against mine, nothing rough or rushed.

I chased his retreating lips with mine, loving how warm and soft his lips felt and getting comfortable in his arms and pressed close to his chest.   
  
Two neighborhood boys on bicycles rode around the corner and one of them yelled “go, oooold people kissing, go!!!!” as they passed us, whistling and making kissy sounds.

Chris and I both burst into laughter but we didn’t stop kissing until we needed air, at which point he rested his forehead against mine and kissed the tip of my nose.   
  
“See? No one but you sees the age difference. We’re equally fossils to the neighbourhood tots.”

“Good point.” He said, thoughtfully. “I am more afraid of the gossip press.”

“Come back from there. We’re here, in the now, and I decided I will want to feel your whiskers tickle my face some more in the near future. Worry about other things when we get there.”   
  
I took his hand and laced my fingers with his.

“We make the rules. We don’t have to fuck with anyone we don’t like.” I told him.   
  
“Is it that easy, though?”   
  
“You’ll see.”   
  
With those words, I pulled him close for another kiss.   
  
He is making it really easy for me and I love him for it.


	10. Modern Gardening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Chris and our girl live out the ultimate bourgeois fantasy: being a couple who harmonize in their home- and garden-improvement and who work together to attain that magazine-worthy garden look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can come across as a filler chapter, but to me it is SO NOT. See, most movies and fics end after the wedding, after the kids and the big moments, and never show us the really good stuff that happily married people keep to themselves - which is a couple that communicates and works together, gives each other shit without their love losing its strength, all against the idyllic backdrop of a beautiful house with a garden, something which only really boujee folks have these days. 
> 
> I am a sucker for domestic couple's bliss and you could even say that interior magazine spreads showing us celebrities' homes and gardens are my porn. It's not about the materialistic element, because many people are miserable while sitting on billions. It's the feeling of security and being spared from the extra hoops poor people have to jump through daily. 
> 
> ALSO: we're soon getting to the part where they bang, so bear with me. :) 
> 
> I know what you'll say, "did this bitch just use gardening as foreplay?" and to that I say, "bitch I might have".

So things didn’t change THAT much between us. We’re the same as before, only now we kiss. And _damn_. Chris is a wizard at kissing. I’m not sure I like how much power he has over me with just his lips.    
  
He makes them into full body experiences. His hands travel down my body, his hands cradle my neck and his fingers arouse soft, feather like sensations over my skin. His kisses always leave me a bit confused, plenty dizzy and with warmth traveling up and down my spine, trickling down into my lower belly and between my legs. 

Whenever Chris comes over, whether he stays the night or he's just dropping by, he wears comfy loungewear around the house and to bed. The rest of the time, you’re not getting him out of jeans. He very seldom wears slacks or chinos when his publicist sends him to a place or event that has photographers. And even then, seven out of ten times, Chris is in jeans. 

But when we hang out, it’s soft fleece things with Disney characters, cotton and knitwear.    
  
Look at me, thinking of him like he’s a new sofa. 

Nah, girl.    
  
But he is a really soft guy, and he loves his comfort. It’s like having a really lazy house cat around when he’s here. A house cat that can bench press me, but still.

I don’t let him be as lazy as he would like. He pulls the movie star card pretty quickly and while Lisa lets him get away with it, I don’t. For the simple reason that I don’t have anyone else to ask for help and if I do ask him, I don’t do it just for show or to pretend I am not giving him special treatment.    
  
At first, it unnerved him. But once his LA ego finished scoffing, he got down to work.

I have heard him say he prefers girls who give him shit. Good that he does put his money where his mouth is. 

And like, don’t think I am saddling him up with chores because he’s supposedly a man and stronger and all that shit. But I also don’t let him come over, take control of the TV and watch football while I work around the house and then scream for me that he wants a drink.   
  
If he wants a drink at my house, he makes himself one and he asks me if I want one too. 

On a Saturday not long ago, he had come over since Friday afternoon and we were having breakfast when he asked me if I had anything planned for the day. I told him that yes, I was going to the garden center to buy flowers to plant and ornaments to liven up the front portion of my garden.    
  
“I rented a van so I can grab everything I need and come directly home with it. It’s going to rain towards the evening so I want to be done with it or at least on the way to being done by then.” I told him.    
  
He immediately volunteered to come along and help. Dodger was almost as eager and Chris, if not more, when he heard the words “garden center.”    
  
Chris wanted to drive the van, but I was looking forward to that, and we nearly decided it via wrestling match, but since time was pressing me, I rolled my eyes and was like, “okay, I’ll drive to the store and you’ll drive back from the store.” 

It was more than obvious that physical age had no say in our dynamic. Chris was mentally 14, at best. And the fun part was that most of the time he made me regress to that age too, until a situation that required an adult arose. And since I’ve had to mature way too fucking soon in life, this was an arrangement I found very convenient. 

So anyway, we went to the store and I got roses and summer flowers, hyacinths, freesias and two wisteria plants, plus some wrought iron arches and some ornamental wall segments.

Dodger had the most fun, sniffing everyone and everything in the store and finally coming to us all exhausted, asking to be put into the shopping cart because his paws were tired. We got away with taking him along because the store is mostly outdoors and I think the staff wouldn’t have said anything to Chris Evans for bringing his super adorable dog along. 

Once at my place, I broke out my sketch of how the garden was going to look and began tracing the shapes on the freshly dug ground.    
  
Planting the flowers was the most effort-heavy part, and we ended up sweating and getting pretty warm, so Chris and I both took off our top layers. I remained in my tank top and shorts, while Chris took off his shoes and socks, and his shirt, keeping only his jeans and his cap on.   
  
I had the foresight to put sunscreen on his arms, chest, nose and shoulders, because his feta cheese self had zero defenses bared under the sun. 

He protested when I did it, saying he did not need babybing, but as time went by and the sun burned hotter, he had to admit it had been really good that I had thought of that.    
  
We focused on getting the work done in time, which meant we didn’t have time for lengthy chats and breaks.    
  
Watching Chris on his knees in the dirt, working hard and concentrating on aligning the plants according to my scheme, I felt a strange, all-encompassing feeling of bliss suffuse me. It wasn’t his nice muscles rippling beneath his skin, or the way his shoulder blades moved when he nestled a rose bush in the little bed he had made for it.    
  
It was the moment itself, and the fact I now had someone who was doing things I liked together with me, without complaining or telling me I had to pay them for the huge sacrifice of spending some time with me and doing things I liked and needed.It was such a feeling of home and I got a bit overwhelmed.   
  
We were getting done, and we only got delayed the tiniest bit in planting the garden because I had to assemble the wrought iron arches and erect them, then had Chris help me place the wall elements in place and fill them with soil, where young strawberry plants and kitchen herbs would be planted later.   
  
And we were done not one moment too soon, because we heard the crack of thunder above us after we felt the first droplets of rain, and pretty soon the skies were just opening up and dropping their water on us all at the same time, or so it felt.    
  
In practically no-time, Chris, Dodger and I were soaked to the bone and I went and put our tools away before joining them both on my back deck, under the plexiglas roof.    
  
We stood side by side and looked at our afternoon’s worth of work. Chris pulled me close and rested his warm hand on my hip, in a spot where the tank top didn’t cover the skin.    
  
It was as though someone had plugged me into an electric circuit. 

I got super hot inside and felt like I couldn’t breathe enough air in. A low electric hum reverberated all through me on the inside, reflecting the storm outside on a micro level.   
  
I turned to look him in the eye and he somehow knew.    
  
His kiss was needy and hungry, not holding back. Still laced with that gentleness and care I had come to always associate with him touching me in every other way.    
  
I slipped my hands under the waistband of his jeans and underwear, resting them on his bare skin. 

“Let’s go inside and get cleaned up. And then dirty again.” I whispered. 


	11. Getting the D - as in Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I promised that they'd do it in this chapter. Well, here it is. I didn't feel like making it explicit this time around. Bear with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just watched some "Love and Hip Hop" again and man, the drama quota on that show is sky high. I'm entertained. Which is why this chapter is more introspective than smutty. Actually, it glosses over the smut pretty smoothly. 
> 
> To those who say that Chris would never date a girl like this, I will say what my dad told me when I was a fresh thing - "Love is like a black cow who's seen you every day since forever. And one day, you never know when, it gon bite you, and you won't know why." Chill, it's not about violence. Cow bites are cute. Cows aren't T-Rexes. They just nibble to let you know you is family to them.

Chris gasped, then let out a pleased moan, which I assumed was expressing anticipation. 

We went to my upstairs bathroom, where I have all my favourite products, and we undressed clumsily, before pouncing on each other under the shower and getting shampoo and shower gel.   


“Can I wash you?” He asked, sounding way too breathless for someone who was used to women *and * men wanting to get naked with him. 

“All. Over.” I said, smiling up at him. “Are you fine with me washing you too?”    
  
“Sure, sure, wow… fuck… you are so fucking hot, I’m sorry I haven’t said it sooner, I didn’t want to seem obsessed but fuck me, those videos. You though. Every day, live, close to me. I’ve been so dizzy ever since Ma introduced us.” He said, starting to shampoo my head and letting his hands stray down my neck, over my boobs and under them.

I’m not exactly what most people picture as “hot”. I’m almost Chris’ height and heavy. My body is honed by dancing and MMA training, but my abs don’t show on regular days. I have a big ass that stays big no matter how much the rest of me grows or shrinks.  And small tits.   
  
But Chris was such a sucker for it, and his huge engorged hard-on was enough proof of that.   
  
And while I know how I measure up against the standard, I don’t hate myself. I’m actually fucking elated by my body. It stays healthy, it does awesome things, it gets me noticed and hired. And it gets me Chris wanting to be around me, touch me, hold me... and other things.   
  
So in those moments I caught myself distancing myself from the scene, and watching with detachment from afar, starting to slip into my professional mode, something which had become reflex while I was stripping.   
  
I had to remind myself and make an effort to return to my body, and not run away from being just me, in that moment. Because I wanted to enjoy Chris’ touches. I wanted to be an actor in that scene, not a spectator.   
  
“This is good, this is how it should be, Chris is a friend, we trust Chris,” I told myself quietly.   
  
I took some shampoo and did his hair, adding conditioner too. I added shower gel to my palms and started running them down his body. Everywhere. Sometimes closing my eyes, to commit the feel of his skin beneath my fingertips to memory. Squeezing his ass cheeks softly and letting out a delighted “mmmm!” in appreciation. Washing him carefully where the sun don’t shine and moving my hands over his hips, to the front, I used both hands to soap up his cock and balls, giggling to myself.  
  
I hadn’t touched a man’s bits before and I was finding out I liked touching Chris’. I let him slide his soapy shaft back and forth in my double grip and watched him lean back against the shower wall.   
  
He closed his eyes and hummed in the back of his throat, rolling his hips into my hands.   
  
I wanted to see what other sounds I could coax from him, so I let one hand slip back past his balls and to his asshole, just circling it patiently and resting the pad of my finger on it.   
  
“Fuck… please… please stop… I’m gonna come so fast.” He pleaded and I did stop, pulling my hands back and adding more shower gel to my palms, making new foam and washing up his belly, sides and chest.   
  
“Isn’t that the goal, though?” I asked.   
  
“I want you to get something out of it too.” He panted out.  
  
“We don’t need a rock hard dick at all times to even have a good time. Besides, I’m going to need some tinkering so it might be good if you’re not under pressure.”

I hadn’t slept with a man before, but I’m an enthusiastic user of sex toys and I knew what to expect when it comes to penetration. However, I did know that men tend to be impatient and rather forceful when their dicks are steering the boat, so I wanted Chris to have the edge off and maybe get creative about filling the time until…

“Besides, I hear it reloads.” I added with a wink, looking down at his cock in my hand. I tightened my grip around it briefly and it made Chris moan from deep within his chest. 

“Oh fuck, then yes... “ he managed to say, relaxing back against the shower wall and watching me.    
  
I carried on stroking his cock, rubbing my thumb over its tip and watching his face. My other hand returned to his asshole, gently rubbing and tapping with the tip of my finger.

“Fuck that feels so good.” Chris said, sighing and squirming a bit. “So close… fuck that teasing sensation… oh FUCK!”

His hips jerked forward and he let out a small whine.    
  
“You’re way too talkative for someone about to come.” I said, raising an eyebrow.    
  
He actually shrugged.    
  
“It’s my Italian half.” He said, starting to grin and being interrupted by his orgasm, that made his features twist into a look of ecstasy not unlike what I saw on saints’ faces in classical art albums. 

I watched the white strings of come coat my hand, my belly and the small pubic hair streak I keep, then stepped under the spray to be washed clean and then right through it, pressing Chris against the wall and kissing him hard.    
  
I knew it wasn’t easy for a man to tell his body to let go easily since the goal is usually to not come soon. But there really had been an edge that needed off. 

“Your turn.” Chris said, as soon as he recovered a bit.    
  
“Let’s finish this shower before we turn into stock and dissolve down the drain.” 

He smiled and nodded, turning me around to face the wall and using his hands to wash my back. He squeezed my ass with both hands, but nice and gently and he growled against my neck, sneaking his hands up my front next and rubbing over my nipples with his thumbs. 

I could already feel him start to harden again, pressed between my ass cheeks. But he stopped at some point, ending the shower and getting us towels.

We clumsily tried to dry each other, but since that wasn’t working too well, we each focused on ourselves until the job was halfway done.    
  
I felt myself tense thinking of what would follow, but Chris was in no hurry to get to the main event, as I soon discovered.    
  
Butt naked and still damp from the shower, we stretched out on my bed and tangled our legs together, touching and holding each other close like it was going out of style.    
  
Not once did I feel the discomfort of the thought that he was so, so much more experienced and had slept with so many people that it must have become an autopilot thing by now. I knew rationally that there was no reason for me to feel shame, but I still did, in the past when I had thought of sex eventually being on the table.   
  
Now it was happening and it didn’t feel like I had thought it would - at all. I wanted to be there, I was touching Chris back and loving how he responded. And all the weirdness and unease I had anticipated were nowhere in sight.    
  
Chris looked and acted as though he had won the lottery of life. Even I am not as enthusiastic about touching myself as he was about getting to touch me. And he still asked me if it was OK for him to touch and play with my ass. Which, hell yeah, was totally fine, I mean, why would you eat a whole dinner and skip dessert?   
  
It was shocking to me how easy everything was with Chris. And to his credit, at no point did he slip into the derogatory usual lines that men mistake for arousing dirty talk.    
  
Nothing was stereotypical or generic when it came to him. So he has a big dick for a white guy and I still enjoyed myself hugely. There was no pain, no bleeding, no awkwardness - against everything the media and other women taught me to expect.    
  
But the nicest part came after. Once Chris returned from the bathroom, where he got rid of the condoms, he slid back into bed with me and wrapped himself around me again… and wouldn’t you know it, he wanted to talk! No trace of the rolling over and starting to snore standard straight guy routine. 

He still hadn’t had enough of me and wanted to caress all of me and leave kisses in places where I’d stopped hoping anyone else would want to kiss me - sweet, slow, hot and so gentle and full of undisguised desire. I went into it thinking “Oh boy, brace yoself” and came out feeling like a queen, floating on a cloud high above the ground.   
  
But then, like in movies, there was a disk scratching sound and as soon as my dopamine got reassimilated, I felt lonely and cold. What now? As reason returned to me I realised I’d let this man into my body… the box had been ticked. Countdown to him disappearing like a donkey in the fog, the next time I see him being in a celeb mag, papped at some event with one of those premium women that walk on imported air.    
  
I stayed up a long time after he fell asleep, holding me close like Dodger holds his lion when he sleeps.    
  
Speaking of Dodger, I snuck out of bed and went for a walk with the pooch. On the walk, while he was sniffing squirrel trails and digging up abandoned mole hills, I looked inside myself. Physically, I didn’t feel changed. But mentally, I was frozen into the braced position, waiting for shit to go downhill fast.    
  
Fuck me and fuck my bad head, and whoever let me catch feelings for Chris.    
  
I came back and hesitated. Should I go sleep on the couch or back to bed with Chris?    
  
Dodger decided for me and he went upstairs to curl up at CHris’ feet. When I stripped and slid into bed, his arms were immediately around me and he kissed my neck in the dark, all sleepy.    
  
“Everything alright, baby girl?” He asked against my neck.    
  
“Mmmhhhhm,” I said. I didn’t want to chase his sleep away with “We need to talk”, because no one likes to be hit with that shit, much less when they are happily sleeping. 


	12. The Devil Isn't Pitch Black After All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a Romanian saying, meaning "things are not as bad as you imagined they would be", which is what our protagonist discovers once she wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might read a little bleaker than others, but that's because I started watching Mr Robot and I love the series, although it is very bleak in itself. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

I fully expected to wake up alone, to an empty bed. To last night’s sweat, cooled and sticky on my skin, consolidating my disgust with myself.   
  
Maybe somewhere out there, there’s women and girls who don’t feel like this after sharing their bodies with a man they slowly and securely fell for.   
  
But that isn’t me. I hate how these two feelings coexist within me. On one hand, exhilaration and relief. Chris and I were together and it was amazing. On the other hand, disappointment and despair. Chris and I were together and now he’s going to move on.   
  
And while the bad emotions are smaller, they corrupt the rest of me. Like a teaspoon of toilet water in a barrel of wine, they tinge everything with a shit hue and flavour.

I’d really love to see only good things around me. Build a whole world out of the nice things that I hand pick to populate my existence. Like attracts like. And because I’d be optimistic and content, the luck and the joy would flock to me, reproducing endlessly like fuzzy cloud rabbits. There would be no place for negativity in my life. I’d find it easy to love myself, from the center of my power. I’d reject everything that doesn’t quite rise to my expectations. Because I’d always have a billion other nice things to wake up to. I’d be one of those gilded cunts who put out self-help books that read “Just  be happy! Decide to be rich! The power is yours! I had a sandwich just now, so people who claim they’re hungry are full of shit! ”   
  
But I’m not that person. I wish I was, I wish it had been that easy for me too. But you see, Mom and Dad taught me only one lesson - that everything in life is transactional, especially love. It can be revoked on a moment’s notice and that underneath the purest of feelings, and the grandest of words, if you look closely enough, you’ll find the bullshit. Which is why I wanted nothing to do with this relationship and networking crap. People are ticking time bombs - they choose the worst of times to surprise you in the worst of ways. And they don’t even mean it - it’s just a civil agreement of “sorry man, I just need to do what’s best for me” that just so happens to involve stomping all over your heart.   
  
I did wake up to an empty bed.   
  
I sat up on the edge, looking around for my fuzzy slippers and not finding them.   
  
I went to the bathroom and took a shower, then wrapped myself in my toweling robe and went to the kitchen to get something to eat. No use feeling sorry for myself on an empty stomach.   
  
But before I got into the room, the smell of something yummy and with vanilla hit me.   
  
I rounded the corner and looked into the kitchen - at the stove, Chris was flipping pancakes like a pro.   
  
He was wearing some pants he had left here a previous time, and my fuzzy slippers. Which obviously didn’t fit him, but for some reason, the sight made a knot form in my throat. And I could feel my pessimism dissolve for the time being. After all, he was still here, cooking us pancakes and looking like we’d been married for decades.

“Good morning! Look who’s up! Just in time for second breakfast.” He said, putting the pan aside and coming to kiss me. He then stopped and pulled away to look at me.   
  
“Everything alright? I could sense your unease since before you woke up. Did I fuck something up? I’m sorry. I’m a dick. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I always fuck up.” He went on.   
  
I put my palm over his mouth and squeezed his lips together.   
  
He was flipping my script on me. Where was the distant, cynical man, only here for the sex? Because Chris seemed to mirror my insecurities perfectly.   
  
“Hey… it’s not you, alright? It’s my mind. I’m not used to good things happening. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. And meanwhile it feels like a guillotine.” I admitted. I risked blowing it all to hell by coming clean so early, so inelegantly. But I always say that it’s dishonest to let someone fall in love with you without showing them your less presentable sides too.   
  
“I’m the same. I keep waiting for shit to hit the fan. And often I give things a push in that direction… and women gladly take the opportunity to blame me and fuck off. Which is why I’m this still single fossil that everyone started to feel sorry for.”   
  
“I told you before, I’m with you because you’re fun. Sex was A+, but I could go without. I’m not used to getting it all. And the fact that you’re famous is… well. Not ideal.”

“A+, huh?” Chris asked, going to switch on the radio and then coming to squeeze me in his arms and kiss me. “I got the best grade.”

“It was better than I imagined, and that’s hard to top. So yeah.” I said, looking inwardly at the strong shiver of pleasure that coursed through my whole body just at the memory of last night.

“I don’t think I ever got this good reviews. I’m starting to feel some wind under my wings.” Chris said, starting to move to the music on the radio while still holding me. “All those other people before me though…did no one get the A+?”  
  
“What other people?” I asked, shrugging. “Just because I stripped doesn’t mean I slept with everyone who crossed my path. Try no one.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have made it special!”   
  
“But it was special! And I didn’t want my nerves to be front and center. It was good, alright? Amazing, actually. You’re very generous with affection and your dick and you together could pilot a Jaeger. You got mad skills.”   
  
Chris smiled at my analogy. “How can you know? If there’s no comparison?”

“I don’t need that. I got off. Several times. And I felt good. At no point was I depersonalising or self-monitoring from outside. I got what I was promised out of sex. And some extra goodies on top.”

Chris still didn’t leave after breakfast. We cuddled and talked some more, then we went back to bed.   
  
I realised I really loved seeing him laugh and smile, and goofing off with me. Plus it had the advantage that it shushed my pessimistic outlook for the time being.   
  
He only left because Lisa needed him to come over and help with something. Then he returned later, towards the evening, with a backpack full of things. He wanted to stay the night and he had brought spare clothes. I was over the moon with the plan.

It was so effortless, too, with Chris. Not just the intimacy, but also the silences and the long moments of us working on something where there was nothing spectacular to be said. Chris really wanted to be here and I felt that every moment.


	13. Big Trouble in Little Concord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and our girl take his niece to an Easter Egg Hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris gets to see what the protagonist is made of and he has some extra questions. After all, he's a man on a tight schedule. Or at least, he sees it that way.

Chris ended up moving in. He paid the rent, utilities and contributed to groceries, happy to let me cook and teach him some nice healthy meals.   
  
We didn’t have a big conversation, I just told him I’d love to have him around more and that was it. He came running.   
  
Especially since I discovered I have two new passions: doing things to Chris outdoors, in my garden and the sounds he makes while I have my way with him. And I love how vocal Chris got, once he figured out he was in for some fun with me.   
  
And while I’m still getting used to the whole being a couple and having a lot of sex part, I am absolutely loving the having a boyfriend part. Having arms around me when I cook. Hearing him hum a Disney song while he trims his whiskers at the bathroom mirror or having his wider, warm frame envelop me at night when we sleep - I could totally get used to it!   
  
At first, he couldn’t be persuaded to put the toilet seat back down and the second time I went to take a leak at night and my ass created a vacuum seal on the porcelain edges of the john - that was when I decided it was time for an intervention.   
  
So I purposefully loosened the screws on all the toilet lids. Not for good. Just one turn and a half, and then I coated them in vaseline.   
  
I didn’t say anything. But one night, an inhuman cry split the night's quiet as the seat slipped down and slammed on Chris’s dick tip.   
  
It took three instances of that for Chris to form a reflex of lowering the seat , which was commendable for someone who’d been used to leave the toilet seat up ever since the first time he was tall enough to pee into the bowl while standing on a footstool.   
  
And before you accuse me of being cruel - think about it. I’m not, not really. Because my prolonged suffering should not be the price of his comfort in doing things the way he’s always done them with impunity. Plus, he could have learned the first time and spared himself two dickslaps with a sharp polyresin edge.

He never questioned the “possessed” toilet seats in my house and why they kept dropping. He just never left the seat up again anymore.

We started showing up together to various local events and family gatherings. Lisa and Chris’ siblings were already over us, as they had been waiting for us to get together for a long time and they all said they viewed us as an “obvious” couple, like tomatoes and oregano.

Couple of months after, Carly asked us to go with Stella to the Easter Egg Hunt the town organised for its children at the park. It was meant to be a day of outdoor activities for kids, with sweets being sold, a little train on a track going around the park, and a hunt for chocolate easter eggs for the kids as the main event.   
  
We had a great day, especially Stella, who went and inspected every new flower and greeted every single bug she came across.   
  
Then it was time for the chocolate egg hunt and, looking around at the parents who were there with their kids as well, I had an uneasy feeling. I didn’t like the faces I saw there.   
  
And soon I found out why.   
  
Once the egg hunt was declared open, the only people on the lawn where the eggs were hidden should have been the kids.   
  
But a whole bunch of helicopter moms and a few dads were there too. At first, just pointing out the eggs to their kids. Then shoving one another and rugby-tackling anyone standing between them and a chocolate egg.   
  
I was watching in disbelief from the side, and so was Chris. Poor little Stella had gathered three eggs and was sitting on the edge of the lawn, looking at the mayhem before her, then back to us. Tears were swimming in her eyes already.   
  
But the lapful of eggs she had gathered wasn’t enough for one of the pageant mom types and she spotted some more eggs in front of Stella, getting ready to dive for them.   
  
Chris was strung like a bow, his whole stance silently screaming “Ho don’t do it!”   
  
But the massive woman still hurled herself at the ground in front of Stella and I already saw in my mind’s eye how the grown ass woman would squash the child beneath her like a bug because there wasn’t enough distance to slow down her forward momentum.   
  
So I did the only thing I could think of. I threw myself at her, shoulder first, grabbing Stella and planting my feet firmly into the ground as I pivoted and took the rest of the impact on my back.   
  
For a long few seconds, all I could feel was the force of the impact traveling through me.   
  
Then, a huge hand reached to grab my weave as the angry mom stood up and identified me as the disturbing force in her plans.   
  
Chris’ hand wrapped around her wrist and stopped it in its motion.   
  
“Leave my fucking family alone lady.” He growled. I had never seen him be this threatening. He looked about to eat that woman and pick his teeth with her bones after.   
  
That gave me the chance to put some distance between us and cuddle Stella, who was now crying. Her eggs had broken during the clash, too.   
  
The woman left and Chris joined us, trying to console Stella.   
  
“Hey, princess, I know a place with an egg patch where the Easter Bunny hides his best eggs! And no one else knows about it. How about we go there instead, hm?” I asked her, winking at Chris. “Now why don’t you and Uncle Chris go grab some ice cream while I phone ahead and tell the Bunny we are coming?”   
  
Chris nodded subtly in understanding, and as soon as we parted ways, I went to the store and bought some of the nice cream-filled eggs, some that were filled with M&Ms and others with marshmallows and jelly beans. I then wrapped them in colourful tin foil and hid them all over my back lawn.   
  
My whole plan paid off when Chris and Stella arrived and she ran to the lawn and gathered all the eggs in the felt basket I had given her for the task.   
  
“Look, I have so many!” Stella said. “You can have from them too! Even if you’re grown up!”   
  
I hugged her close and said thank you, kissing her little cheek. Chris’ nephews and niece are all such good kids, who are loved and looked after. I genuinely hoped the incident at the park would not linger on Stella’s mind. No kid deserves to have their view of the world as a friendly place crushed so mercilessly and so early on.

Later, after Stella had a nap and Chris drove her back to his sister’s place, he returned to me with a bunch of wild flowers.   
  
“Thank you. For your quick reaction when I froze, and for making Stella happy again.” He said. “I picked these from the forest for you.”   
  
I hugged him and went to put the flowers in a vase, then I came back to kiss him and squeeze his butt.   
  
“I had fun today. Thank you for taking me along. Stella is a sweetie.”   
  
“I wasn’t sure you’d like doing kid stuff all day.” Chris said, looking down.

“Oh, I love your niece and nephews, Chris. I can’t stand brats and entitled mombies, though.” I replied and rested my head on his shoulder. “Let’s snuggle someplace and talk and then you can help me make us a nice Italian dinner.”   
  
When we were comfortably nestled in blankets on my sofa, Chris kissed my neck and let me rest my back against his chest, putting his legs around me and pulling me close.   
  
“Do you see yourself as a mom sometimes?” He asked, barely louder than a whisper.

“Yes, I do. I didn’t get to feel what having a mom who loves you is like, but I know what love feels like. I just have to think of my parents and do the exact opposite to make sure I don’t raise broken individuals.”

“What kids do you picture yourself having?”  
  
“I’m not that specific. I mean I never thought it would be on the table for me. I’m not easy to love and I don’t love easily, so…”     
  
“Well I love you and it feels like the easiest most obvious thing in the world.” Chris said. “I thought there’d be things eating at me like our age difference, but no. It’s like all of me chose you and it’s a done deal.”   
  
I turned to look at him. Those were big words.   
  
“I love you too. Have done so for a while and was afraid to come clean even to myself. I don’t want to get hurt.”

“Sometimes it’s inevitable. You miss out on great things by being so guarded.” Chris said.

“Let me put it another way. I don’t mind getting hurt when things go bad around us. But there are people who love to play with others. Exploit and bail. I don’t have time or energy for that. Plus, I don’t deserve it. I feel safe with you.”  
  
“I’d never do anything to hurt you on purpose. I know I give you shit and stuff but… I really do love you. I don’t want any harm to come to you. Not even from me.”   
  
I ended up dozing off, warm and snug like a bug in a rug between Chris and the blankets. His questions about kids had left me a bit wary, but not as much as I had expected. It was no news to me that he wanted a wife and kids so of course he would ask. 


	14. Blood Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and the girl get married. Is it too soon? Maybe. However, who's to judge? All that matters is how they deal with life's curveballs together.

We had been dating for less than a year when he proposed with a ring made especially for me, to fit my hand and my preferences. It wasn’t a diamond ring, which Chris clutched his pearls at originally, but I told him we’d wear matching wedding bands after so I’d better like my engagement ring and besides, diamonds carry super bad karma. For every sparkly bit of pressed carbon in the world, at least someone was either exploited or murdered. I don’t want to start my marriage with that kind of vibes, and Chris understood.    
  
Was I surprised by the timing and by him asking? Hell yes. Was I displeased? Hell, no!    
  
Chris just walked into my life and filled the spot that had been Chris-shaped all along.    
  
And I was amazed at how much we got away with… partly also thanks to Chris being a fantastic actor, on- and off- screen.    
  
He always showed up at my dance recitals, or at the late night talk shows and award shows where the artists I danced for were performing.    
  
But he was always “nerdy guy in a cap and filming with his iPhone in portrait mode from row 5”. And people, if not told to look for him, did not see him at all. There would be the odd Twitter mention of someone being like “the guy next to me at the urinal looked an awful lot like Captain America” or “does Chris Evans attend hip hop masterclasses? No? Well then I just saw his normie twin fist-bump a dancer.”    
  
I went to his events too. I even went along on press tours. I was the quiet assistant arranging chairs in the back or helpfully offering to hold the boom pole for the interviewing crew. No one gave me a second look. 

After all, everyone and their dog has an idea of what the woman Chris Evans should date looks like. And, spoiler alert, it’s NEVER the woman he is actually dating, no matter who that is. So why worry about trying to please them, when it’s a losing game to begin with?    
  
I was and am against us going public for Chris’ sake. They will never let it rest. We’ll be twenty years into the marriage and our kids will be grown up, and they will still harass Chris to give them more and more details.    
  
He thinks one of the best things about me is that I am not impressed with him, but he’s not completely right here. I *am* VERY impressed with him. He’s a very talented actor and his performances often leave me in tears. But what I’m not impressed by is the fame part. The having to act like a celebrity and get into the pool with the hungry sharks. So what if there’s some coins thrown in there? No amount of money can compensate for the effects that part of the industry has on Chris.    
  
At home, we don’t live lavish. We didn’t buy a property spread out on three hills in the most exclusive part of Mass. We don’t pay extra security to patrol our compound. We live at my house and we don’t even have a cleaning lady. Chris likes it because he feels it keeps him grounded. I like it because it means more time where I get to hang out with him.  
  
At first, I was pretty shy about fully opening up to him, but he’s so chill about all the things that none of the men I met before were.    
  
He already knew about wigs from work, but he learned my routine so he could help; he learned to use a weave needle and to braid my hair for the shows I dance in. He spray-tans me when I go to fitness competitions. He cooks stuff from my cutting diet so I can get in shape fast and he also doesn’t taunt me by eating ice cream and donuts while I am having kale and sweet potato mash. He trains with me, he spots me when I lift weights and he geeks out when I train with GSP. Most of the time, when Georges and I fight, Chris is sitting on a blanket under a tree nearby, reading a play and stroking Dodger’s head, that’s resting in his lap. 

Our days together are slow and lazy, we laugh and cuddle and play with Dodger, we prank each other, dance and chase each other around the house… and sometimes, like the flick of a switch, the mood changes. Chris’s stance and look change, hell, I can feel the electricity saturate the air in the room as that twinkle reaches his eye.    
  
It’s so impressive to see. And feel, as the next thing I know is I’m being pinned to the cold metal of the fridge and I feel Chris’ fingers press into the skin of my neck while he slips a knee between my thighs. I could easily free myself, but I never felt the urge to do so. 

There’s always a sweetness in the way Chris touches me - even when we engage in more aggressive stuff. The way he looks at me and takes me in; the things that leave his lips in the heated moments and how clearly affected and utterly aroused he gets when I’m lying back naked before him - I hope everyone gets to feel this wanted and loved by their partner. 

And when he looks at me, I never feel those old, deep wounds resurfacing and opening. Unworthy, disgusting, unlovable - all those things I used to hear said back at me in silence, played back by my mind in my mother’s voice - they’re gone.    
  
There’s no trace of deceit or ulterior motive in the way Chris looks at me, and since I’ve never been treated like this before, it’s going to be a while before I take it for granted. I know, the bar is low and anyone else would say I’m too starry eyed. But feeling safe and loved for exactly who you are is not a given, sadly. It’s a privilege too few of us have, and to pretend it is the norm is delusional and damaging to everyone who doesn’t get their happy ending. 

It feels good to be the one he’s chosen in a way no one else was. Oh, Chris can definitely be duplicitous and cruel; he can manipulate and play games up there with the best of them - but that’s for those who only speak the violent language of backstabbing and betrayal. 

This is how I know I’m family now. I could not ask for more.    
  
I let him, his mom and sisters deal with preparing the wedding. They were the ones planning a big ceremony for a big family. I only had eight guests, three ex-coworkers from the strip club, GSP and his wife and three friends from the fitness world.    
  
Lisa did ask me if I didn’t want to reach out to my family one last time, but I explained to her I was still unwanted by them. And besides, if they did not want me before, they shouldn’t get me now. Also, Chris and my new adoptive family did not deserve to have my toxic parents inflicted upon them.    
  
The wedding was so nice in the end. All of Chris’ family and all of his friends and best coworkers were there, which made it look like a mafia congress merging with the set of a Marvel movie. I got to meet a lot of people and got hugged and kissed so many times, I was glad I had stashed a bottle of liquid social skills in my corset.    
  
We both cried during the ceremony, and we held hands to reassure each other. People in the church melted while watching us and the cheering once we exchanged rings and kissed was deafening. 

I started feeling weak and getting fainting spells while we were still on our honeymoon in Italy. First I thought it was a reaction to the local foods I wasn’t used to. Then I thought it was anemia. I even took a pregnancy test. Well, a fistful of them.    
  
Some were positive, but most were negative.    
  
As soon as we came back from the honeymoon, I went straight to the doctor, who ran urine and blood tests to determine if I was indeed pregnant.    
  
Everyone seemed to be on board with the pregnancy theory and close family and friends were already congratulating us.    
  
But I had a bad feeling and because of that Chris was being reserved in his reactions too. And he worried about me because I wasn’t feeling well at all. 

Then the bleeding began. 


	15. Immolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immolation means complete destruction by fire and also, sacrifice. It's kind of what happens to these two people's dreams right when they were thinking it's smooth sailing all the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some medical procedures and consequences are being mentioned and briefly described. No gory stuff, but here's a warning just in case.

We were still getting innuendos and jokes about my being pregnant from friends and family when the latest doctor’s appointment showed that there was something seriously wrong inside me. 

I had gone to the check-up alone and I crumbled. I called Chris in tears and I asked him to come join me at the clinic. 

He came right away to hold my hand through the further bad news. 

For some reason, I had gotten pregnant, even though Chris and I always, always used condoms but I guess there’s always that 1% chance. Only the embryo hadn’t made it into the uterus and had attached itself to a fallopian tube. Hence the fainting spells, dizziness and bleeding.

I was petrified. 

One of the reasons we had gotten married, as opposed to just living together like until then, had been Chris wanting kids and my wanting to start soon. It sucked so much that the first time was by accident and such a sad, unfortunate twist. 

The doctor asked me if I had done anything in the past to create the right circumstances for an ectopic pregnancy, so he could better assess the risk of future pregnancies ending this way. Had I had previous surgeries in the abdominal area? Past infections? Had I had an IUD in place? 

The only thing I could think of were the times when, as a stripper, I had had to dance while on my period and had stuffed make-up sponges inside myself to make sure there would be no leaks. The other girls had taught me the trick and it had worked at the time, I had not felt any pain or discomfort at the moment so I’d figured I was good. 

I told Chris my suspicion when we left the clinic with a surgery appointment. I knew he would judge me and be sad, but I had this overwhelming urge to be honest even if it cost me everything. 

I mean… once it got out, literally everyone else would pressure Chris to divorce me and marry someone who didn’t fuck up so monumentally in the one area he cared about. 

The two weeks until the surgery were hell. I sat through a parade of concerned relatives and friends trying to cheer me up with condescending platitudes. 

But Chris… even though he was sad, and I understood that he had first been told I’m pregnant, and then that there would be no baby at the end of it, he was nothing but supportive and great about it. 

“Babe, babe, shhhh… I didn’t marry only one part of you, I married you. For better or worse, remember? I didn’t specify which worse was the one where I reserve the right to walk out on this marriage.” He said, holding me close and warming me under a blanket on  the sofa. 

That was another thing. Since that last consult, I had been getting worse and I kept telling myself it was psychosomatic. I was shaking and feeling a constant chill all over because I felt the ghost of losing everything and everyone I loved. 

I felt like everything in the universe was against me. Why couldn’t I just be one of those women who wake up one day to an oops baby, despite pre-existing conditions that would make it hard to get pregnant? Why did I have to be the lamest one, whose eggs didn’t even have the common sense to hang out in the uterus?

I refused to go to support group meetings. I felt evil for refusing but I physically couldn’t. There would be women there who already had two kids or more and who were only there to complain they didn’t get one extra kid. There would be women with bigger health issues than me, putting up a stronger front and making me feel even worse about being such a mess about my situation. I didn’t care about other stories, this was one moment where I didn’t want to compare notes with anyone. 

And I worried for Chris. He was so sad and quiet, like I had never seen him before. He looked after me and made sure I was comfortable and had what I needed, but the light was out. I had never seen him like this before and I was terrified that this was what it would be like from now on. If that was the case, I did not see myself still having a marriage. 

We were shopping for groceries in Target in the days before the surgery when I saw the blood drain out of Chris’ face and he ran over to me, catching me before I collapsed where I stood. 

When I woke up, I was on a hospital bed and Chris was huddled in next to me. There were dry, salty trails on his cheeks from having cried and I reflexively reached for him and kissed his forehead. 

I was afraid to even ask what had happened, but I had to know somehow. 

Chris stirred next to me and he blinked a few times before opening his eyes and looking at me.

There it was, the spark he always had in his eyes when he looked at me! He smiled and kissed me with so much force, I felt my nose cartilage shift weirdly under the pressure of Chris’ nose.

“Babe,” he said, his hands coming up to cradle my face. “You’re here! I was so close to losing you.” 

He sat up and went to call the doctor, so I could hear from him and his team what had happened. 

“When your husband brought you in, the nurse did an ultrasound and I did a check up. We found signs of a rampant infection. You went into surgery right away and we found extended infection and adhesions inside the uterus, ovaries and fallopian tubes. The infection was likely to spread to the entire abdominal area, and I am still not sure how it was contained. If your husband hadn’t brought you in at once, sepsis would have set in and… well, that was avoided. We did have to extract all the affected organs though… I’m really sorry, Mrs. Evans, I know this was not the verdict you expected…” 

I had trouble taking it all in. On one hand, I was still alive. On the other hand, I couldn’t have kids! What would happen to me, now that I had lost every hope of somehow having kids? I didn’t even have the option of freezing my eggs. 

Thanks to the many drugs in my system, I felt pretty detached, as though they were talking about someone else. I looked at Chris, and instead of grim, he looked relieved and he was holding my hand in his. 

“What is the risk of the infection recurring and spreading again?” Chris asked. 

“Now that all the affected parts have been removed, we expect your wife to make a full recovery. Of course, that leaves the onset of early menopause to deal with… and for that we can put together a replacement hormone therapy, depending on how her body deals with the change.” 

“We’ll get through that, no problem. I’m just glad I get to keep her.” Chris said and enveloped me in such a loving look, I felt warmed from within. 

There was no pity in his eyes, no despair at the realisation he couldn’t be a dad to some kids of his own. Well. Theoretically he could be, all he had to do was leave me and find someone who could make him kids without complications.

I realised I was being cynical. But if Chris decided to leave me, I wouldn’t hold it against him. The social pressure to fit in and have your own kids is huge. People who don’t conform are excluded from the privileges afforded to married couples and families, although if we’re honest, a married couple IS a family already. 

And because Chris is famous and everyone is looking at their watches, waiting for him to pop out mini-Chrises, he is under even more pressure. 

I could already think of how the press and the fans would change their tune, from “aww Chris when are you gonna be a dad, we need you to be a dad because that would be SO HOT!” to “When is Chris going to leave his bitch-ass wife and start having those darn kids?!”

But I was getting ahead of myself. People outside didn’t even know Chris was married. He had started wearing designer rings at some point and the wedding band was blending in seamlessly. 

Before I was released from hospital, the doctor told me that whatever I was doing, lifestyle-wise, had probably saved my life. Only by being in excellent health had I managed to survive something that most of his other similar cases had not. I told him I was pretty active and lifted weights. He told me to carefully and gradually ease into the activities. A plastic surgeon had been working with him while he operated on me, and the incision was minimal and would leave a thin horizontal scar that should become invisible and easily hidden under the fabric of a bikini slip. But that meant I had to be extra careful and not lift anything heavy while I was still recovering, not bathe and not do anything that might affect the local healing processes. 

Chris was all on board for giving me sponge baths and helping me while I sat on a small chair in our shower as the shampooed my hair and washed me. 

At first I was embarrassed. I had already branded myself as an anomaly. Was I even still a woman now that my woman bits were no longer part of the set? 

“I was in the OR too.” Chris told me one day, soon after we came home from hospital. “The doctor wanted to only scrape out the infected inner lining of the uterus and treat the rest of the infection with antibiotics, but he did say it was risky, however it left us a fifty-fifty chance of having kids.” 

I was speechless. I watched him intently. 

“I told that guy I’m not gambling with my wife’s life. His female colleague agreed that a fifty fifty chance of preserving the organs also meant a fifty percent chance of you dying. And that was too fucking high for me.” 

I was shaken to my core. 

Chris has always wanted kids. Yet he gave up even the slightest chance of having them for me? Without so much as a stray regretful thought?

“We can still have kids.” Chris continued. “Adoption doesn’t come with health risks.”   

I started crying. Of course he would be the kind of man to have this much compassion and be so kind.

It took us two months until life returned to normal. I didn’t suffer the terrible effects of early onset menopause as harshly as the doctors predicted. And I was given a minimal dose of estrogen that went a long way. Everyone commented how good I was looking and how I was glowing.

Chris was in a good mood again, spoiling me rotten.

We never stopped touching and sleeping together, he always pulled me close in his arms before falling asleep wrapped protectively around me, and before the two months were up, we had resumed having sex too. 

I was really good and waiting with going back to fitness activities. I even waited with yoga.

Lisa and Chris’ sisters were really supportive and nice. Lisa was particularly proud of how her son was handling the whole situation and she was very pleased that he, like her, felt there was no difference in parenting biological kids and adopted kids. Moreover, even though she was a good Catholic, she did say she thought being a parent to adopted kids was more of a good deed in God’s eyes. 

She and Chris had a talk on the porch of Lisa’s house and I overheard Chris tell his mom that he did want kids, but not for the idea of just adding people to the world. He told her how he couldn’t see having kids without his wife, and that he looked forward to being a parent together with me. 

That left me in tears and I tiptoed away to the garden, where I went to sit and collect myself. I had married the best man I could ever hope to find.


	16. Resurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and his wife get back in the world. And the reception is... mixed.

Slowly, I went back to my usual activities, and dancing had been the one I had missed the most. The first offer I got was to dance solo in a Sia video. 

The song blew up big, it got awards, the video got several Video Music Awards and even I saw myself going to the stage to accept a moon man trophy for Best Dance in a Music Video. 

Chris was in the audience, of course, but we were still not public and I saw him nod and beam at me, wanting me to enjoy this moment to the fullest. 

A while after that, we were invited to a big Marvel stars and executives dinner, and Chris and I were getting styled by his stylist for the event. If it had been up to me, I would have gotten some really boujee jewelry and shoes and a fancy jumpsuit from Fashion Nova and that would have been it. But that wouldn’t have looked good next to Chris’ Ferragamo suit so I decided to play along. 

I got a Versace high plunge dress in shades of dark and light blue with sparkling accents, that looked like I was wearing the waves of the sea at Saint-Tropez. It was held in place with a minimum of clear tape, since I didn’t have big boobs to start with and since the surgery they had shrunk a bit more. 

Chris went to hang out with his cast mates and friends, while I was left for a few moments to mingle with the wives and girlfriends. 

“Wow, I never knew Chris was married!” One of the other actors’ wives said and pulled me close, leading me to the rest of the group. She introduced me to everyone. 

“So what’s in the books for you and Chris now?” She asked.

“Well, I just won my first big award for dancing…” 

“Yeah that’s very nice for you dear, but when are you having kids? I don’t suppose he married you to get ahead in his career since… have we seen you in anything or … is your Imdb page as unmentionable as mine?” She pressed. 

“First of all, rude. I’m proud of my award and it is fucking big news because a fuckload of work and training goes into producing performances like that. And the kids question is so fucking intrusive. What the hell.” I said, watching the other women roll their eyes and make sour faces. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a stronger drink to put up with this shit.”

“Whatever dear, it’s not like you would’ve fit in with your slutty cheap dress. Ratchet ho.” The one who had prodded me with her questions said as I walked away. “Go be with your washout man where you belong.” 

I could hear them laughing together, sounding like nervous turkeys.

I rejoined Chris, who was chatting with Robert Downey Jr and his wife, who, being a producer, naturally belonged in the men’s group at that Hollywood inside meeting. 

I met Mark Ruffalo and Paul Rudd and they congratulated me for my award and told me they had enjoyed my previous performances, even though I had mostly danced for hip hop and trance artists, which were not Mark’s and Paul’s go-to genres, but they still appreciated skill, regardless. That made me feel better again and I forgot about the wack experience in the women’s group. 

“I’ll be more than happy to give you a live sample.” I said, only half-joking. 

“Yeah babe, show them what it’s all about!” A slightly inebriated Chris said, turning to his buddies. “And if they like it they gon make it rain.”

I went to the person in charge of the atmosphere and I asked him to play “Pray for Me” by Kendrick Lamar and the Weeknd and dim the lights in the room where the men were gathering. 

I took off my blinged out Ralph & Russo sandals and I showed those rich folks what I got that award for. 

When I was done, you could hear a needle hit the floor. There was a long moment of silence before RDJ broke into applause and the others followed. When the lights came on, I saw some of the women who had questioned me in the other part of the venue leave huffing. It must be hard to get through the times when the attention is not on you. 

Chris and I got a lot of checks from his wealthy movie star and producer buddies, and RDJ donated two whole ass million dollars for a charity of our choice. 

We left the meeting as soon as it was acceptable to do so without upsetting the company.

On the stairs of the chateau where the dinner had been held, Chris looked at me. 

“What shall we do with the money? Christopher’s Haven?” 

“Yes, but since RDJ is a big Republican, his donation should go to Planned Parenthood.” I said.

Chris laughed that whole body laugh of his, slapping his left boob in abandon. 

“I never think I could love you more, and then you go and do something like this.” He said, taking my hand and showing me to the limo that took us to our hotel.

A couple of days later, Chris’ panicked publicist stopped her car in front of our house and stumbled out looking like she was about to die any moment. 

“You have to see this… guys… someone ratted on you.”

She opened a presentation on her tablet, where all the sources writing about the “news” were listed, together with the materials they published. I read through some of the headlines.

_ “Chris Evans secretly married to stripper”  _

_ “Captain America likes them stripper hoez.” _

_ “Chris Evans’ ‘contemporary dancer’ wife covers up stripper past”. _

_ “Stay tuned for exclusive nude photos of the new Mrs Chris Evans.”  _

“Who would do this to us?” Chris said, sitting down and trying to calm his publicist. “It wasn’t anyone from our circle, and no one else knew!” 

“Someone knew… and disliked me on sight.” I said, thinking back of the Hollywood business dinner and the wives’ group. 

“That explains the ‘Hollywood insider’ quoted as the source.” The publicist said. “But why? They gain nothing.”

“I failed to make myself liked by acting the way they expected me to.” I explained. “They were rude to me from the get-go and I called them out. I didn’t see a reason why I should sit there and take their insults just to fit in. I don’t need those people. And neither does Chris.”

“Who was it though?” Chris asked. 

I told him the name. 

“But the others supported her.” I added.

“What should we do now?” Chris asked. “They threaten to release nudes of my wife!” 

Before the publicist had time to reply, I showed them something on my phone. 

“This video of me twerking stark-naked has been online for a while. This kind of kills the nudes.” 

Chris gasped. 

“You’ve had naked videos of you online and you’re alright with it?” 

“Sure. I put it online, this is my channel. It’s filmed in such a way that it’s not explicit and it never got flagged for inappropriate content. And it’s not sexual nudity. It’s just me shaking my ass. Why should I be ashamed of that? It’s like you being ashamed of your shirtless scenes from the Cap movies.” 

Chris and the publicist both looked at me like deer in headlights. 

“I was kind of waiting for this shit to hit the fan. I don’t want to cost you your career, Chris.” I said. “I can’t change my past. And I can’t change how your industry friends perceive it. But I’m not threatened by some nudes.”

“Well fuck whoever is not cool with you. They aren’t married to you, I am, and I don’t give a shit either. What would you do?” 

“I’m not as noble and dripping in finesse as you.” I said. “I would go to twitter and shut them down.”  

“Then… this means we don’t have a scandal on our hands.” The publicist said. “You can, of course, write whatever you want on your social media.”

We invited her to stay for dinner and showered her in hugs and reassurance. She had had quite a shock and she cared about Chris and, by extension, about me as well. She didn’t deserve this kind of stress.

I later went to twitter and posted the link to the video of my dancing naked. _“You bitch ass fuckers, you think some titty pics will destroy me? So I stripped! And I worked hard past that and you gon respect that, whether you like it or not. And Chris don’t owe you shit.”_


	17. Wiggle Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could possibly be the advantages of marrying someone who embraces their big mouth instead of trying to put a sock in it? The consequences can be liberating for all parties involved.

At first, Chris had a hard time accepting the fact that in our situation, he was the treasure, and I was the fire-breathing dragon.   
  
It’s funny, too, because I’m not as ready to stand up for myself as I am for Chris. Sure, I’ve been dealing out clapbacks to everyone who ran their mouths about my stripper past, but only since they are coming for Chris about it and not me. Because yeah, I’ve been in some videos here and there. But I’m not famous. Chris is. And he doesn’t deserve any of this shit, which is why I gladly wade through the swamp to keep the alligators at bay.   
  
I’ve crashed so many interviews already. I’ll be in the background pretending not to listen, and a reporter would poke at Chris with either the age difference (the angle is always the sick one, trying to make Chris out to be this huge pervert, as though he started dating me when I was underage, like he’s Tyga or Henry Cavill or something) or the getting married in secret or the stripper thing.    
  
So I crash the interview and call them out. Sure, it gives them a juicy headline. But the sharks now know that when they come around Chris, sniffing for blood, I’m going to be there, whacking them over the head with a paddle. Apologies to actual sharks, who want nothing to do with humans. I mean strictly the press here - and some fans.    
  


Our story is so unlikely, which makes me even more grateful. Everyone, Chris included, always imagined he’d marry an actress or someone he works closely with. His fans wanted him to marry someone trendy and that they deem classy from Hollywood.    
  
And he’s had so many long relationships with hotter and classier women than me - yet he popped the question to me, after dating me for way less longer than any of his previous girlfriends. Maybe he just said “ah what the fuck!” and went for it, to get the entire world off his ass. Only now they wanna come for him over other things.    
  
Ugh.    
  
While the world out there is a regrettable cesspool, life at home is great.    
  
We changed the house a bit. Chris bought it for us and put it to my name, since he already has two houses. I didn’t suggest or ask for it, but he did it of his own accord. I know what his thinking was, since after his folks separated, he bought Lisa the house so she could get to keep the place where they had their best memories.    
  
Now, any other woman would have gone after him with “so you think we’re likely to get a divorce and you’re already planning for it?!” but I know Chris by now. One, I know he’s a very generous man with the people he cares about, and b, he and I both like to prepare for the worst and then get pleasantly surprised when the opposite happens. This way we always have something to be grateful for.   
  
The only thing I have a hard time dealing with is the occasional bout of envy when one of the other women from Chris’ extended circle announces a new pregnancy.    
  
I have zero problems with regular women who become moms and are happy about it. It’s kind of in the job description. 

But kids are such an accessory in this world. They are a valuable currency that buys increased attention and admiration. There are women who demand million-dollar “Push presents” and who give interviews upon interviews on how challenging and difficult parenting is, although they have nannies and family taking the load completely off their backs so they can look into their own needs even more. Because being a rich, privileged mom is the same as having your name etched in gold on the CEO’s office door - some might say, even better, since you only have to put in the work once.    
  
Yes, I did let myself become salty and I did catch myself judging these privileged women who never had to examine their “I WANT” when it came to children. And it is a privilege for anyone who can go through with it without considering the consequences. Somehow, the biggest narcissists are the ones who want to be parents the most and the ones who know how to milk the experience of all its benefits and bright sides, leaving the children or the others around them deal with the less pleasant sides.    
  
I did not let my thoughts get hold of me, because I didn’t want to upset Chris, who was and is a children person and who has given up so much out of loyalty and love for me. I often think how much harder it was for him to stand up not just to the world outside, judging him for choosing to be with me in spite of everything, but also to the scared child inside him who desperately needs to be loved and accepted by doing what he’s been told is the right thing his entire life.    
  
Chris is a lot like Lisa in that he has a lot of love to give and he doesn’t qualify that with if or but in any way. I have no intention of betraying that love. So I play nice with all the wives of his actor friends. Even when they don’t return the sentiment. 

I also keep some of my sadness to myself. I never got to properly mourn the loss of… possibility. I can’t say I had a burning wish to give birth to my kids, I didn’t play with baby dolls when I was a child, but by virtue of being a girl, it sort of went without saying that babies and kids would be an obligatory part of my future. With Chris, it was even more so, he got to see how much happiness kids bring to people who want them, he’s a fantastic uncle and everyone keeps… well, kept gushing over what a good dad he would be. Because his dreams were so clear and big and in full colour, his loss hurt more than mine. And by some miracle, this man still chose to be with me, despite an entire world telling him in every big and small way to leave me and offer himself a chance to real happiness, to a scenario in which he gets everything he was promised, exactly in the way he wants it. 

But he also talks a lot about legacy. About wanting to leave a palpable, visible mark on the world, and eventually we agree on the fact that the best way to do that is to use the power and the position we’re in to do good; to lessen the suffering we see and can change, for the small price of our kneeling egos.    
  
When it’s just the two of us, it’s heaven. Alright, we adopted two more dogs and some cats, and our bed gets super crowded towards the morning, but home is such bliss to return to. He’s still the soft cuddly boy I got to know in the beginning. He’s still loving and attentive in how he treats me, even when we try some more out there stuff… only to crack up mid scene and check in with each other to invariably discover that it looked better in the description than it actually felt doing it. 

Ever since I recovered from my surgery, sex has been amazing. Like I didn’t think it could be better, but it was. The doctors warned me I would lose sensation and my vagina would dry up completely, but thankfully things aren’t so bad and besides, lube exists. 

Before, I used to come super fast, like Chris would only have to cock an eyebrow at me and I’d be ready to fall apart under his touches. Now I can time my reactions better and Chris can enjoy himself too without knowing that for me the show is over even as he’s just arriving on stage. 

  
Thank fuck for that. I don’t think I would have been able to deal with losing on  _ all _ fronts. 


	18. Fight Music (the end)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it all falls into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it. I went there and I did it. :) It's had some heart-wrenching moments along the way but I feel happy with this ending. I hope you enjoyed this story too and thanks for being along for the ride. <3

One day, Chris returned from a Marvel set and didn’t say a word for a long time. He just wrapped himself in the blankets on the bed and sat there staring aimlessly.   
  
At first, I left him to it, because he always needs a little time to shake off his character and to let Chris out again. Sometimes he needs longer, other times he switches instantly, before he even leaves the airport.   
  
But this time was different, there was an invisible cloud of lingering grief around him, so I dared to go and reach out to him.   
  
I went close and asked him for permission to enter his blanket fortress. His eyes were red and he was sniffly, but he seemed to be feeling better again. So I just hugged him and let him know I was there.  
  
“I lost Steve,” were the only words he said and by God, did he say everything with them.   
  
In public, he is strong and distant about it, I mean, actors shed their characters all the time, but I knew what he meant. Steve is a good man, an uncompromisingly honest and gentle guy like you don’t really find every day. And he’s hot, confident, humble and wears his demons like a neatly folded jacket on his arm. Chris measures himself up against Steve and finds himself lacking… without seeing that, just because he can’t be exactly like Steve, doesn’t mean the good parts of him are easily discounted and unimportant.   
  
It didn’t help that, after he was done filming the Steve parts, he kept having to go back to do yearbook photo shoots and give interviews about how bittersweet it is that his run as Steve ends. I bet it must have felt like being stabbed, having the blade taken out, then getting re-stabbed and having the blade twisted - rinse and repeat.   
  
I just tried to be a good wife and a friend, making sure he had a shoulder to lean on and a pair of ears to vent to. Eventually, he felt better and returned to work, doing a play - the complete opposite of an action multi-picture franchise.   
  
For that, he grew a mustache. A perfect revival of the 70s dirty cop trademark accessory… which turned me on like nothing else ever had… for some twisted and inscrutable reason.   
  
It didn’t take long until the mustache almost completely consumed Chris. It changed the way he carries himself, how he talks and acts.   
  
We went to live in NY for the duration of the play and it was a second, kinkier honeymoon. Suddenly us two vanilla flans were a dirty cop and a nosy Internal Affairs investigator… Chris would come home, undress, shower and then come to find me.   
  
Eyebrow: arched. Mustache: trimmed. Dick: out. I was under arrest for making lewd gestures at a police officer.

It was fun while it lasted… Once the play ended, Chris grew his beard again and shaved his head, looking like his usual suave and masculine self. If I hadn't been missing some inventory, that mustache would have gotten me pregnant.   
  
That was actually why I started journaling. Because I can’t really talk to anyone about my grief. See, in private and industry circles, other women who are also mothers can say any kind of blood-curdling things about people like me, but that’s OK because they are just busy overwhelmed moms blowing off some steam and their pain has to be acknowledged and respected. If I dare to say anything, I’m clearly a hateful demon risen from the fiery pits of Hell to cast a shadow onto the glory of motherhood.

So, in the winter of last year, we adopted our first kids. Boy and girl, twins, four years old. Chris went to Romania with his friend Sebastian and I ended up having to join them because he found our kids there. Victor and Minerva were cute, bright and in desperate need of getting out of the Romanian foster system. They took to us very quickly and began calling us “Mom” and “Dad” naturally. 

Everyone loved them. We managed to shelter them from the press for the most part, but people still learned we now had kids. Chris’ fans went back to saying horrible things about me, because I apparently wasn’t allowed to cheat at life and still get some happiness out of it.   
  
There were his female fans, who kept commiserating over how unfair it was that Chris, such a fine example of male excellence, had to adopt, when they were all so willing to make him _real_  kids.   
  
That was what sparked Lisa’s return to social media. Unbeknownst to Chris and his PR team, she went after the biggest bitches.   
  
It was all the support I needed. Beyond Chris’ “I’m above this, I won’t respond” approach, I felt so warmed by Lisa standing up for me and my little family, that I grew the balls to do something to contribute as well.   
  
So I sat down with a notepad one night, then called some friends from the music industry.   
  
Now, after my first single topped the Billboard charts, even my haters are singing along to my song and Chris is humming along to my _barz_ while he trims his beard in the morning. We all blast it in the car and the kids sing along because Chris and I let them swear (which turned out to be a winning choice, since they decided on their own that swearing is a treat, therefore to be used in moderation and only in trusted company). Hours of family fun!   
  
Not too bad for a _stripper ho_ , I’d say.   
  
End


End file.
